


Bad News (Iwaizumi x Reader)

by kuroolongtea



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Romance, Comfort/Angst, Drama & Romance, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, bad boy, iwaizumi x reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27904795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroolongtea/pseuds/kuroolongtea
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime has quite the reputation; whether it’s good or not, it depends on who you ask. A strange twist of fate brings you two together and you decide that, despite the rumors always surrounding him, maybe you’d actually like getting to know Iwaizumi better—even if he might be bad news.A story about the unlikely relationship between two people, and how far—if anywhere—it’ll go.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader
Comments: 265
Kudos: 270





	1. acquainted.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on tumblr (@kuroolongtea) where i'm more active for updates! there's also an extended author's note there about the fic :)
> 
> the fic playlist can be found on youtube if you search "kuroolongtea" :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi Hajime? Yeah, you’ve heard of him, considering he’s got quite… the reputation. What you didn’t expect though, was to be seated next to him in your first class of the day—or to cross paths with him time and time again after that.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Let Me Rock" by Marc E. Bassy

* * *

Today is your last first day of university.

You’re not sure how you made it through so many years of school, but here you are, a year away from graduating.

You scan the classroom of your first class for the day; a few people seem to be missing, but the lesson doesn’t start for another five minutes.

The chattering around you—sounds of surprised university students overjoyed at being united after a long summer vacation—makes you feel slightly lonely.

You’d spent most of your time with friends a bit older in age, and they’d all graduated already, moving onto the next chapter of their lives—you can’t help but feel as though you’re on your own, once again.

Left behind. 

The sentiment causes you to lose all remaining slivers of interest in striking up a conversation with any of the people seated near you; after all, class is starting soon, and you’re all graduating in a few months anyway. 

What does it even matter?

The sound of the door sliding open sends everyone scattering back to their seats as your professor—a short, stocky, middle-aged man—greets the small class of thirty people or so. 

After waiting for everyone to settle down, he begins roll call, prompting a series of “Here!”s and raised hands.

You don’t pay much attention to the names called out since you wouldn’t recognize them anyway, but one _does_ stand out to you in particular.

“Iwaizumi Hajime.”

You’ve heard of him.

The two of you have never interacted or been in the same class, but you’re pretty sure you’ve heard his name come up in more conversations than just a couple.

The class is silent and unresponsive aside from a few whispers, and your professor looks up, peering over the rims of his glasses.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” he repeats, a little louder.

As he looks back down—to mark the student absent, you presume—the classroom door slides open loudly to reveal the missing person in question.

The professor peers at the new arrival from head-to-toe, finally asking, “Are you Iwaizumi Hajime?”

“Yeah,” the newcomer says nonchalantly. He turns his head to scan the room for an empty seat, his sharp jawline made even more distinct by the overhead light.

You think back to the things you’ve heard people say about him, ranging from him being “a little shady,” to his alleged “dangerous” lifestyle (whatever that was supposed to mean), to him being _hot_ but also _scary_ as hell, or all of the above.

You’re pretty sure someone’s even mentioned that Iwaizumi Hajime was in a gang, but that… seemed to be a bit of a reach, in all honesty.

Well, that’s just how gossip works.

You don’t know much about him, but observing him now—though from afar—you can’t deny that he looks intimidating.

Or the fact that he’s _very_ attractive.

But the latter is supposedly still not enough to diminish most people’s fears of being associated with him, with virtue to all the rumors regarding his reputation.

“You’re late,” your professor points out, though not particularly upset. “Go take a seat.”

Iwaizumi gives a small, half-hearted bow of apology with his head and strolls towards the back of the classroom… where you’re sitting.

And _that’s_ when you realize that the only empty seat left is the one to your right, perhaps partially due to your disinterest in speaking to anyone earlier.

_Oh man._

Before you can dwell any longer on the fact that you’d be seated beside someone with such an intense aura, you hear the professor announce your name from the attendance list and raise your hand in response, calling, “Here!”

Iwaizumi reaches the empty desk as you put your hand back down, casually dropping his backpack to the floor. He plops down into the seat, and you two make momentary eye contact.

That brief exchange is enough to make the hair stand up on the back of your neck.

Your eyes dart back to the front of the classroom as your brain struggles to pay attention to your professor reviewing the class syllabus, though your peripheral vision seems _obsessed_ with keeping the guy next to you in it.

There’s just something about the way he leans back in his seat with almost half-lidded eyes, hands shoved into his black jean pockets like he doesn’t have a care in the world— _why_ is it so… attractive?

Maybe attractive isn’t the right word.

You’ll settle for being “fascinated” for now.

Your curiosity only grows stronger and stronger. Where did all those rumors even come from?

You hear a low, quiet yawn escape Iwaizumi’s mouth, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can find in your body to not turn your head and look at him.

Well, your willpower wasn’t enough, because you _do_ turn to look at him before you can even stop yourself.

You only have yourself to blame when he glances at you in return, his piercing gaze causing the tips of your ears to burn.

You try not to snap your head back immediately for fear of an obvious display of your embarrassment, but you can’t make any guarantees about the success of that attempt.

Taking a slow breath, you swear to pay attention to the professor from here on out, and none to Iwaizumi, whose existence just a couple feet away you’re still painfully aware of.

It’s going to be a _long_ class.

* * *

In all honesty, your class schedule isn’t bad—getting off at 4:30pm is reasonable, and it’s a bonus that the sun hasn’t set yet.

However, today is one of those days where you need to run a couple of errands—at the bank, to be specific—which is why you’re currently stuck on this train.

This busy train slowly fills up with working men, women, and students who are all eager to head home.

You weren’t early enough to catch a relatively empty train and snag a seat, but it’s not so late where the cart is packed like sardines either. 

Squeezing past a few people crowded near the head of the train, you settle for a spot facing the window by one of the doors further back, where there are at least still a couple inches spared between you and the other standing passengers.

You’d really prefer not to have your face rubbed up against some stranger’s armpit.

But your relative comfort is short-lived once you reach the next stop, where a handful of people filter in through the sliding doors.

You sigh and tighten your grip on the handle overhead as people push past you, the force of their bodies testing your ability to stay balanced and standing.

What you wouldn’t give to be one of the lucky passengers with a seat right now, to not fear almost getting knocked over, or deal with all these different people and _things_ like backpacks pressed against you—

Your thoughts come to an abrupt halt as you stiffen.

Did you just feel… a hand on your ass?

It was a fleeting moment, but you could’ve _sworn_ you felt the physical contact.

You try to shake the idea away as your heart starts to race against your will; there’s no way something like that would happen to you in public, and even if it did, surely it was an accident.

It had to be.

Yet it’s anything but an accident once you feel someone put a large hand on the side of your thigh, this time for certain.

Your face pales as your whole body freezes—you feel sick to your stomach, but you can’t move.

 _Do something_ , your brain is screeching at you. _Do anything other than just fucking standing there._

You want to scream, to turn around and punch whoever is touching you in the throat, but your body won’t listen to you.

All you feel is fear. Fear that seems irrational, which you hate yourself for.

The hand begins moving toward your inner thigh as you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to move, or praying for someone to notice.

But you know it’s impossible for someone to notice such a small movement in such a crowded space. What if they don’t want to get involved?

You’re gripping the overhead handle so tightly your knuckles turn white, small tears threatening to brim the corners of your eyes out of hatred and frustration towards yourself for being so passive and afraid.

Your stomach twists into a knot as you feel the stranger rub his thumb back and forth against your bare skin in a disgustingly slow motion.

 _Why the fuck did you have to wear a skirt today?_ you blame yourself. _Are you dumb? Of all the things you could’ve worn—_

“Oh!”

Your thoughts of self-loathing are cut off when you hear a woman yelp, followed by a few surprised gasps.

Right as you turn your head to catch a glimpse at what the commotion is about, you see none other than—

_Iwaizumi?_

Iwaizumi Hajime?

You blink, and before your brain can register the fact that he’s just shoved past five or six (visibly upset) strangers, he’s already standing behind you.

And he’s pushed the culprit responsible for your harassment so forcefully in the process that the stranger is knocked over, trying to hide his guilt in a frenzy.

“Fucking scumbag,” Iwaizumi mutters with a hostile scowl.

You snap your head around on impulse to try to get a look at what your assaulter looked like, but Iwaizumi reaches his hand past your head to hold onto the handlebar, blocking your vision.

Before you can turn to question him, you hear Iwaizumi mutter in your ear, “Just keep looking forward.”

And for some reason, you listen.

You keep your eyes fixed ahead of you, but upon seeing Iwaizumi’s reflection in the window, you lower your gaze.

The previously offended passengers have all seemed to get an idea of what happened, as they do their best to put some distance between themselves and the frazzled man shooting them dirty glances.

Iwaizumi’s tall and muscular physique acts as a barrier, shielding you from the rest of the people on the train. You can feel him standing incredibly close from behind, though there’s still just a _hair’s_ breadth between your bodies, his never fully touching yours.

It’s a bit of an awkward position to be in, but you feel… safe.

Meanwhile, he simply wears a casual, bored expression, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

And truthfully speaking, Iwaizumi didn’t want to get involved.

He prefers to mind his own business. He really does. But when push comes to shove, certain things just have to be done.

Who asked him to be sitting a few seats away when he saw some gross middle-aged fuck trying to grope you?

Iwaizumi thought that maybe you’d yell for help, but seeing the way you completely froze in fear, his body had moved on its own.

And now there’s an ugly pervert cursing under his breath a couple feet away, as well as a handful of people Iwaizumi probably offended when he mindlessly shoved them out of the way.

What a pain.

Iwaizumi lets out an irritated sigh as you feel his breath against your neck, causing an intense heat to shoot up to your cheeks.

The sleeve of his black bomber jacket is right beside your head, stretching above you and smelling faintly of gasoline and smoke.

Although you’ve calmed down, you can’t stop replaying what just happened over again and again, feeling very bewildered—but grateful—for Iwaizumi’s intervention.

And now that you’re thinking clearly again, you remind yourself that it’s never your fault—what you say, what you wear, what you do—for someone harassing you.

Taking a deep breath, you realize that the train is approaching your stop.

Oh right. You still need to go to the bank.

You awkwardly tap Iwaizumi’s bicep as the train slows to a halt, and he glances down at you.

“Uh,” you say, taking a peek at him. “I’m getting off here.”

He raises his arm to let you out without saying a word.

“Thanks,” you breathe while moving past him towards the door, but he just grunts in response.

Talk about a pleasant guy.

You stand at the platform for a moment longer after getting off, watching Iwaizumi through the window, his tan skin accentuated by the yellowish lighting in the car.

The last thing you see is the top of his dark-haired head looking down at his phone, before the engine starts again and whisks the train full of passengers away.

Despite his reputation as a “shady, dangerous guy” or “bad boy” or whatever else people liked to call him, Iwaizumi Hajime has left a pretty good impression on you.

* * *

The following day comes all too soon.

You didn’t expect to work such an early shift for your part-time job on just the second day of school, but life—and your boss—doesn’t always give you what you want.

That’s why you’ve been here since 6am before the sun even rose, now refilling the snack section in aisle seven of the convenience store a little less than a mile’s distance from your university.

Sometimes you enjoy the quiet in the most breathless hours of the morning, but sometimes they feel eerie. 

You’re not sure which side you’re leaning more towards today.

As you finish putting the last box of strawberry Pocky in its shelf, you hear a loud clang of the entrance door swinging open, indicating that you have a rare, early customer.

“Hi, welcome in—”

The visitor dashes in, and you swear you can almost see skid marks on the freshly-mopped floor with how fast he comes to a full-stop.

You freeze in surprise when you realize who it is, and your heart races. 

You’ve come face-to-face with none other than Iwaizumi.

 _You have_ got _to be kidding me._

Your expressions indicate that you’re both thinking the same thing, as a look of recognition flashes across Iwaizumi’s face.

His cheeks are just a little blotchy from the cold, and his hair is visibly unruly from running, despite being half-hidden under the hood of his jacket.

For a split second, you think he’s going to rob you.

“Give me a place to hide,” Iwaizumi orders, after processing the odd coincidence of an encounter. “Now.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Unless you don’t want your little convenience store to be completely _trashed_ in the next sixty seconds, give me a place to hide,” he hisses, taking a step towards you. “Now.”

 _This is shady as hell_ , the thought crosses your mind. 

And yet, you oblige.

You don’t have to, but you do.

“Come here,” you beckon for him to follow you, and briskly guide him behind the cash register counter. “Get in.”

Iwaizumi shoots you a look as you shrug your shoulders, but he cooperatively crawls into the little space underneath the counter.

You lean against it, effectively trapping Iwaizumi between the wooden board and your legs, inconspicuously hiding him from outside view.

Surely enough, just like he said, you see two police officers bustle into the store almost exactly a minute later.

Iwaizumi’s got quite the keen sense of time for someone who showed up to the first day of class late.

“Hi, welcome in,” you call towards the policemen, looking up from the clipboard you’d just grabbed to “take inventory.” 

One of them begins to circle around the store, while the other strolls briskly up to you and asks gruffly, “You seen a guy come by here? A little under six feet, black jacket, dark grey hoodie and black sweatpants.”

Your common sense is telling you that you should _probably_ not lie to police officers, as you bend your knee and lean into the counter.

Iwaizumi holds his breath from underneath, staring at your sheer black tights.

“No, officer,” you respond innocently with feigned confusion. “As much as I wish we could be getting business on dead mornings like these, I haven’t seen anyone… Is something wrong?”

Frankly, you don’t like their attitude at all, and you’re also not getting a good feeling about them—despite their being law enforcement.

“Fuckin’ dammit,” he curses, slamming his fist onto the glass, which causes you to jump.

He turns away from you and shakes his head at his partner, who’s just finished strolling through all the aisles, and even peeking into your break room.

They angrily leave without another word, knocking over a shelf of newspapers on the way out.

After following behind to ensure that they’re completely out of sight, you call out to the guy playing hide-and-seek in the cramped space beneath your cash register counter.

“They’re gone.”

You sigh and bend over to pick up the scattered newspapers by the door, stacking them neatly, as they should be.

Iwaizumi pokes his head out from behind the counter and carefully makes his way over to join you.

Once you stand back up, Iwaizumi reaches his arm out, handing you a folded newspaper you must have missed.

“Oh thanks,” you say, taking it swiftly.

You notice a few small, red-purplish bruises on his knuckles during the exchange, and look up at him.

Despite the officer from earlier describing Iwaizumi as a little under six feet, it still feels as though he’s towering over you.

He’s taken off his hood, thus instantly appearing ten times less menacing than he did when he first burst into your store, and now you can really get a good look at him.

You notice how strong his jawline is, and the way his lips pressed firmly together resemble an almost frightening scowl—but that’s just his resting face.

Poor guy.

You also notice what looks like a cut— a scratch, maybe?—on his left cheek, tiny specks of both dried and fresh blood peeking out from his skin.

Iwaizumi shoves both his hands into his jacket pockets at your prolonged stare, and turns on his heel to leave.

“Wait,” you blurt in surprise. “Are you leaving?”

He pauses in his tracks as he’s halfway out the door, one hand on the handle.

“Yeah?” he replies matter-of-factly, cocking his head at you like it’s painfully obvious.

“You’re uh,” you say, pointing at the spot on your cheek corresponding to the position of his injury. “You’re… hurt. We have a first-aid kit.”

“It’s fine,” he huffs, rolling his eyes at the trivial matter and preparing to turn back around.

“What’re you gonna do anyway?” you point out, this time raising your voice. “Class starts in like, a half hour or so.”

Iwaizumi shrugs, his bottom lip jutting out like he couldn’t care less.

“Just come in,” you sigh, already walking towards the back of the store. “Seriously, you might as well.” 

Iwaizumi is well aware that he doesn’t have to listen, but he lets go of the handle and follows you anyway.

You take a ring of keys from your pocket and unlock the door to the break room, holding it open for Iwaizumi before trailing in behind him.

“You can sit in my chair.” 

You motion him towards the desk with two monitors displaying the security camera footage, and turn on the lights with a flick of the light switch.

He glances around at the small space you call a “break room,” before taking his hands out of his pockets and sitting down.

You retrieve the plastic box with an emblematic red cross on the lid, which contains all the necessary tools for treating small injuries.

Iwaizumi watches you wordlessly as you pull up a chair beside him and set the first aid kit down on your desk.

“Okay, don’t move,” you say in advance, which prompts him to roll his eyes in response, though he still complies.

But just as you’re about to take a q-tip and clean the wound, you realize there are still tiny specks of what looks like dirt sticking onto his skin.

You sigh and put the q-tip down, picking up the tweezers instead.

“What happened?” you ask in reference to the wound, and perhaps also to break the strange silence between you two as you carefully pick out the tiny pieces of grime.

“Nothing,” Iwaizumi responds simply.

_That’s it?_

“Oh, okay.”

You’re curious, but you don’t press—maybe you don’t want to know.

… But that doesn’t stop you from guessing.

Is he a gangster? A drug dealer? Maybe a mob boss?

You want to laugh at how ridiculous your mind is, but the fact that you’re sitting just centimeters away from Iwaizumi—your faces a few breaths apart—stops you.

And Iwaizumi has no interest in letting you in on his lifestyle, either.

There’s no reason to tell you, and things are _always_ easier that way.

He watches you carefully clean the wound on his left cheek, your hand gently cupping the other to hold it in place.

You’re staring so intently, so focused, Iwaizumi thinks about the last time someone insisted on tending to him like this. Taking care of him.

It’s been a while.

“Thanks for yesterday,” you murmur after cleaning his wound, now sifting through the first aid kit’s contents for a band aid.

“It’s fine,” he shrugs coolly, looking away. “Do you always work this early?”

You blink in surprise, since this is the first time he’s asked you a question.

“Not every day, because I’m busy with school,” you answer, peeling open the bandaid packaging. “Just part-time to help the store owner out.”

Iwaizumi sits still, his eyes glancing down at your face while you gently place the middle cloth of the band aid onto his cheek, smoothing out the adhesive ends with your thumbs.

Your touch is soft. And warm.

“Done,” you exhale, pulling away once again and admiring your work.

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi says briefly, standing up.

“Sure,” you grin, your breath hitching in your throat at his small, but significant, word of gratitude.

With a glance at the clock, you sigh. “We should probably start leaving for school—I gotta get my bag.”

You don’t fully expect Iwaizumi to wait for you since he could leave any time, but he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it while you retrieve your belongings.

Once you rejoin him, the two of you exit the break room, and you see the familiar store owner making her entrance at the same time.

“Hello dear!” the small, middle-aged woman calls to you.

“Good morning,” you wave with a smile while she takes off her purse and puts it on the counter.

“Thanks for coming in again—oh! Who’s this?” 

She’s caught sight of Iwaizumi trailing behind you. “Boyfriend I haven’t met yet?”

Heat rushes up to your face as you quickly wave your hands in a dismissive manner, laughing nervously, “No, no! Just someone from school.”

“Oh, my bad!” she chortles with a gleam in her eye. 

You don’t even want to _look_ at Iwaizumi right now. 

“Well have a good day at school, hun,” she chirps. “And stay warm!”

“I will!”

You push the door open to exit the store while Iwaizumi follows behind you quietly, your face still hot from the misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t stay hot for long.

You exhale at the crisp morning air and, although the sun has risen for some time now, you can still see a puff of your frosty breath in the cold atmosphere.

“Aren’t you cold?” Iwaizumi asks (not that he has to), eyeing your skirt and sheer black tights. You can feel how distasteful he finds your choice of wardrobe just by the way he’s staring at your legs.

“Maybe,” you say through chattering teeth as you stick your hands into your sweater pockets, desperately trying to create some sort of heat. “But I have a club interview today and I couldn’t find my dress pants.”

Iwaizumi gives you a look that says, _Are you serious?_

But as you turn to begin walking towards the direction of campus, you feel a heavy fabric landing promptly on the back of your head.

Peeling it off, you realize Iwaizumi’s flung his jacket at you, and can’t help but smile.

You stick your arms through the sleeves, still delightfully toasty from his body heat.

“Wow, thanks,” you say sarcastically while zipping it up. “This jacket will surely be such a big help in keeping my _legs_ warm.”

“Give me that shit back,” Iwaizumi snaps, grabbing you by his jacket collar with you still wearing it. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

You wriggle out of his grasp as he finally lets you go, walking ahead of you with his hands stuffed into the front pocket of his grey hoodie.

He really does look a lot less scary when he’s not wearing all black, and has a little band aid on his cheek—one that you put there.

You pick up your pace and catch up to him, attempting to match his stride.

Damn him and his long legs.

As you walk beside him in the quiet morning air of the city, you can’t help but reflect on the absurdity of your situation.

Over the course of just one day, you’ve somehow become [relatively] acquainted with Iwaizumi Hajime: university student, possible gangster, and maybe half a gentleman.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! i would love to know what you thought, so feel free to leave me a comment :)


	2. beginnings.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you and Iwaizumi helped each other get out of some dire situations last time, you ponder exactly what territory your relationship with him falls under. But as you carefully tread the line of “friendship” with uncertainty, you’re reminded of just how much you don’t know about him. 
> 
> Soundtrack: "Change" by Arin Ray ft. Kehlani

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m starting to hate my own writing so much it’s ridiculous LOL so please do let me know if you enjoyed reading ㅠ ㅠ if you didn’t, just don’t drag me please and thank you  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr (@kuroolongtea) where i'm more active for updates! there's also an extended author's note about the fic there :)

* * *

Despite finding yourself acquainted with Iwaizumi over the mere course of a day, you spend the following week trying to gauge what your relationship with this seemingly renowned bad boy is, exactly. 

Are you comfortable enough to be friends? 

Distant enough to settle as acquaintances? 

Something in between?

Sometimes, it feels like you two are strangers that just happened to cross paths a few times: for instance, when you waved at him on campus and you’re _pretty_ sure he saw you, but he still ignored you.

No, that dude _definitely_ saw you.

It had taken you so much mental willpower to finally bring yourself to greet him too… and you did it just to get ignored?

Well damn him too, then.

And yet, there are also times where Iwaizumi seems at ease enough with you for you to be convinced that you two definitely share a friendship—or at least are in the middle of cultivating one.

Like when you jumped in surprise after spotting a spider beside your shoe during class, accidentally slamming your shin against the desk leg in the process. 

Keeling over in agony, you could see Iwaizumi trying his best to contain a laugh in the corner of your eye. 

And if the sharp pain weren’t searing through your entire body, you might’ve paid more attention to the way his cold demeanor vanished for a few seconds under the smirk of his strained cheeks.

He’d then squashed the bug in question with a swift motion of his foot, glowering at the student in front who turned around at the noise with a scowl that said, _The hell you lookin’ at?_

One look from Iwaizumi was enough to send shivers down the poor guy’s spine as he whipped back around to face the front of the classroom.

Although it was obvious that Iwaizumi was laughing at you, you’d decidedly considered his killing of the spider an act of kindness—maybe you’ll settle for being “friendly acquaintances, sort of.”

You’re not exactly prepared to step into the “friends” category with him just yet, considering he’s still mostly a mystery to you.

For instance, he’s already managed to miss two days of school in the span of a week like it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, yet he’ll go straight to you to ask about what he missed whenever he comes back the next day.

So does he care, or does he not?

Also, who the hell misses that much school in the first week? What could he possibly be skipping for?

You just can’t get a read on this guy.

Sighing, you shake your head and continue wiping down the windows of the convenience store for your shift.

As your hand moves the rag in a window-wiper motion against the cold glass, you notice a puff of what’s most likely cigarette smoke traveling through the still air from around the corner outside.

A wave of irritation washes over you, shooting straight into the vein on your forehead.

Jeez, can people read? There’s _literally_ a sign right by the store entrance that says _not_ to smoke within 20 feet of the building. 

With a twitching eyebrow and the patience (or lack thereof) of someone who has simply Had Enough, you irritatedly trudge outside to shoo the culprit away.

Well, that was your intention, before realizing that the culprit is a tan, almost-six-foot man with a strong jawline whom you’re quite familiar with at this point.

Speak of the devil.

“Iwaizumi?”

“Hey,” he says, removing the cigarette from his dusty pink lips to blow out another puff of smoke.

Your eyebrow twitches again.

“It says ‘no smoking within twenty feet’ here,” you huff, pointing to the sign hanging behind you.

He cocks his head to look past you at the window, and subsequently puts out the small roll of tobacco against the bottom of his shoe, before tossing it in the garbage can.

“My bad,” he shrugs, running a hand through his damp, brown hair.

“How’d you know I was working today?” you ask.

Surprisingly, you don’t feel as flustered as you usually do around him.

“What makes you think I’m here to see you?” he replies, raising an eyebrow.

You stiffen.

“Why are you here then?” you mumble.

Iwaizumi straightens up and readjusts the backpack slung over his shoulder, thinking for a brief moment about how to respond.

Truthfully, he’s not even entirely sure himself.

Sure, he usually had a few hours to kill before school on Mondays, and maybe you crossed his mind a couple times after your shitty encounter with the perv on the train, and _perhaps_ he remembered that you worked alone at 6am before walking to school… but Iwaizumi didn’t think any of that was enough to make him want to do anything about it.

And yet, here he is, outside your workplace before he even knew it.

Admittedly, it was a lucky guess on his part—not that he’d tell you that.

“Just finished a drug deal near here, thought I’d stop by to kill some time,” he says dryly as your face pales.

“S-seriously?” you sputter, caught off guard at his blatant words. “Is that why you were running—”

He rolls his eyes at you.

“No,” Iwaizumi sighs. “And I was joking, moron.”

“Well that wasn’t nice,” you frown at him with a small pout. “Maybe you should work on your sense of humor then.”

“Maybe you should work on not being dumb.” Iwaizumi waves his hand and walks past you, making his way into the store before he can think about how the way your bottom lip juts out is kind of… cute.

“Hey!”

You storm after him back into the warm building as he makes himself comfortable in the chair behind the cash register, dropping his backpack to the ground.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” you grumble under your breath as you return to the dreary task of window-wiping.

And Iwaizumi didn’t have a problem doing just that as he scrolled mindlessly through his phone, cheek rested against the arm propped up on the counter.

You snuck a glance at him after a few minutes of silence, and he hadn’t moved at all. 

“So did you do the online worksheet due today?” you ask, attempting to make some sort of conversation. Though you’re not sure if talking about school work was the best way to go—what are you, a nerd? (Maybe?)

Iwaizumi looks up at you and blinks.

“What worksheet?”

You stop wiping and turn to look at him.

“The one our professor assigned us on Friday—” You stop at the realization. “Oh right, you weren’t there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Iwaizumi growls, quickly unzipping his backpack.

You stare at him in surprise, taken aback by his implication that you should’ve said something—so does that make you two… friends or something?

“I don’t even have your number,” you point out, walking towards him. “How was I supposed to tell you? Via carrier pigeon?”

He shoots you an annoyed glance and tosses his phone into your hands, which almost causes you a heart attack, should you have dropped it.

“Put it in then,” he mutters, before groaning. “Shit, I don’t have my laptop with me today.”

“If you wanted my number, you could’ve just said so sooner,” you grin cheekily, eliciting another irritated look from Iwaizumi. “You can use my laptop.”

You slide the cellphone back to him as you leave to retrieve your backpack from the break room. 

Upon returning, computer in hand, you see Iwaizumi taking his hoodie off—the store is well-heated, after all.

The t-shirt underneath follows suit and rides up against his tan skin, exposing a few inches of his body—but it’s enough for you to catch a glimpse of his muscular build, as well as some purplish bruising near his ribcage.

Your eyes flicker back up as you frown slightly, opting to act like you didn’t see anything.

“Here you go,” you say, handing him your laptop. “The worksheet was pretty easy, so it should be quick.”

“Thanks,” Iwaizumi grunts, taking it from you.

You notice the small bruises on his knuckles again during the exchange, and you remember seeing them last week too.

“No problem.”

Returning to your maintenance tasks, your head swirls with thoughts and questions about the guy sitting behind the counter.

Where did he get those injuries? How bad are they? And why is he _always_ hurt??

You also can’t help but find it interesting how Iwaizumi cares more about his studies than you’d initially given him credit for—well, to be fair, anyone would think school isn’t in his list of priorities with the way he never looks like he’s paying attention in class.

It seems like he really is just full of surprises.

* * *

“Wait, you’re a sports science major?” you exclaim in astonishment, walking beside Iwaizumi as you two head towards your class.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi answers, turning his head to look at you. “What about it?”

“Nothing,” you respond. “That’s kinda cool—and it’s fitting.”

Damn right it’s fitting, considering he’s built like _that_.

“Then why are you taking this class?” you quickly inquire, before he can ask what you meant by your previous statement. “It doesn’t have anything to do with sports science.”

“It’s one of those graduation requirement classes,” he grumbles. “But it’s not that bad, honestly.”

You consider making a joke about how it must be because he met you through the class, but before you can decide if you can get away with that type of teasing yet, someone interrupts you two.

“Hajime!”

You and Iwaizumi stop in your tracks as a tall, familiar-looking girl approaches him.

The bored expression never quite leaves Iwaizumi’s face, but you could’ve sworn you saw him narrow his eyes at the sight of her.

“What do you want?” he says gruffly, glancing down at her—she’s tall, but not taller than Iwaizumi.

“You don’t have to be so cold,” she says with a coy smile, her pretty lips coated with a peachy gloss. “Who’s this?”

The girl shifts her focus to you, and you realize where you recognize her from—she’s a part of the club you interviewed for last week.

Admittedly, you feel uneasy under her gaze; you two may be the same age, but you know a hot girl when you see one.

And, oh man, people _really_ shouldn’t be allowed to be this attractive. It makes you nervous.

“None of your business,” Iwaizumi shrugs, pushing past her. 

Well, at least he didn’t say “nobody.”

“H-hey!” you protest, shocked at his rude conduct. You give her a quick, apologetic “sorry” before bustling after him.

She just giggles and waves it off, but you don’t hear the way she clicks her tongue distastefully once you’re out of sight.

“What was that all about?” you pant, having finally caught up with Iwaizumi, who merely shrugs in response.

“Ex-girlfriend?” you ask before you can stop yourself, cringing at your own nosiness.

“Nah.”

Iwaizumi pauses for a moment.

“More like former friends with benefits,” he says casually, brushing his index finger against the tip of his nose.

“Oh.”

“Fuck buddies is probably a better term,” he adds on second thought.

Your nose crinkles itself in with your eyebrows.

“Ew.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

That’s true.

As you two continue your trek to class, you can’t help but feel a bit… disheartened, and you’re not sure why.

Frankly, his personal life is none of your business, so you can’t quite put a finger on what’s causing your stomach to tie itself into a small knot.

Iwaizumi is an attractive guy after all, and he could probably get with anyone he wanted. What’s it to you?

_Looks like him being scary-looking was never a real problem_ , you think. 

You’d stopped chattering beside him, though your silence doesn’t go unnoticed—not that it’s an observation Iwaizumi would let on.

* * *

“So who’s your new friend?” Oikawa’s voice rings through Iwaizumi’s phone.

“What new friend?” Iwaizumi replies coolly, sliding the window of his bedroom closed. 

He and Oikawa have a set biweekly phone call to catch up, though the latter is usually the one who’s more enthusiastic about it.

“You know the one,” he teases. “The cute girl you’ve been hanging around lately.”

“And how did you hear about that?”

“I’m always in the loop,” Oikawa says cheekily. “So it’s true then.”

“She’s just someone I met in class,” Iwaizumi sighs exasperatedly. “And we helped each other out a couple times.”

“Oh?” Iwaizumi can practically hear the smirk in Oikawa’s voice, causing him to grit his teeth together. “It’s not like you to hang around a girl like that though, Iwa-chan~”

“Whatever,” he growls in response. “Are you still planning on visiting or what?”

“Yup!” Oikawa hums cheerfully. “I just need to get some papers sorted at the embassy and then I can come see you! And Makki and Mattsun too—”

“Great,” Iwaizumi groans sarcastically. “Can’t wait for your annoying ass to pester me even more when I’m already busy as fuck all the time.”

“I’ll stay out of your hair,” the Argentinian athlete promised cheerfully. “I can just hang out with your new friend—what’s her name again?”

“I’m hanging up, shit head.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan don’t be like tha—”

Iwaizumi ends their conversation abruptly with a swift tap against his phone screen, putting the device down on his desk.

_Stupid Oikawa._

Admittedly, it has been a while since Iwaizumi and his high school best friend have seen each other. But knowing Oikawa, he won’t give up until he’s wiggled his way into your life and learned everything about you—and Iwaizumi’s not sure if he’s ready to have his worlds collide.

Plus, he _really_ doesn’t understand what the big deal is.

He looks up at his reflection in the window, gently running his finger across the small scab on his cheek from last week’s injury.

Iwaizumi remembers how close your face was to his as you tended to his wound, your touch as gentle as a feather. How he could almost feel your breath against his lips, and how your face lit up with just a simple word of thanks from him.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and pushes all those useless thoughts away—he should get ready for bed. It’s been a _long_ day, and he’d prefer not to miss class again tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! comments are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoyed ♡


	3. unexpected.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your doubts about the relationship between you and Iwaizumi are finally [somewhat] laid to rest with two completely unexpected occurrences: a rather thoughtful gesture from Iwaizumi himself, and an encounter with his best friend.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Born Tired" by Jhené Aiko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance if the pacing/flow is a bit weird for this chapter! i wanted to get this out on saturday but ended up needing to squeeze a bit more in than i’d intended lskdjnalkdjsn  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr (@kuroolongtea) where i'm more active for more content!

* * *

A few weeks deeper into the school year is all it takes for you to be brutally reminded of just how unkind academia is sometimes. 

You’d severely underestimated how busy your final year in university could be, and this week seemed to be a cumulation of all the worst aspects you could think of.

You were lucky enough to be given the club position you interviewed for on the second day of school, but it was much more work than you’d anticipated—add that onto balancing early morning shifts at the convenience store as well as exam season rolling around, and you’re sure to come out dead (or nearly) at the end of the equation.

Not to mention, today’s not exactly off to a great start: the clumsy student in the hallway who spilled her coffee onto your pants earlier made sure of that.

“I’m sorry,” you give a small, apologetic nod to your professor as he merely beckons for you to just take your seat. 

The eyes following your movements aren’t making you feel any better, either; you hate being late to class, but there’s something about being late to a _small_ class that has a level of uncomfortable embarrassment which remains unmatched.

You’re not sure if everyone’s _actually_ staring at the big, wet stain on your pants like you think they are, but maybe you don’t want to know.

“Someone’s late,” Iwaizumi observes under his breath as you nearly dash into your seat.

“Incredible observation, Sherlock,” you mumble, already feeling irritated. 

“You piss yourself?” he asks, eyeing your leg which reeks of cheap coffee. 

“Fuck off,” you hiss. 

You didn’t mean to snap at him, the words even taking yourself by surprise—but it’s been a rough day so far. And a rough week. ~~Maybe also a rough life.~~

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow and blinks at you, slightly caught off guard by your uncharacteristically hostile response.

“This girl spilled her drink on me on my way here,” you explain quietly, regaining your composure.

“Plus I was already running late too,” you add on with a groan and hold your head in your hands.

“Should’ve punched her,” Iwaizumi says simply with a shrug.

“She didn’t mean to,” you sigh, too exhausted to make a joke about how you and Iwaizumi lead _very_ different lifestyles, and you—unlike him—would get absolutely _throttled_ if you tried picking a fight with someone. “I have another exam after this class, so I really need to study.”

He turns his attention back to the front of the class as you pull out a folder of study guides that you’d devoted hours to memorizing the night before.

The dark classroom and documentary playing on the projector screen should’ve made it easy to reviewing your exam materials in this class, but your exhaustion-bordering-narcolepsy proved the task difficult.

You’d had your forehead pressed into your papers before realizing it, the sleep-deprivation overpowering your desperate need to study. 

You’d then subsequently been woken up by Iwaizumi chucking his eraser at your head with impressive precision, the rubbery object bouncing off your skull and landing on your desk with a soft _thump_.

Iwaizumi hadn’t originally intended to wake you up, as you looked like your body was in _dire_ need of some rest, and it wasn’t his problem to begin with.

… But he _really_ was not interested in witnessing what kind of mental breakdown you’d have as a result of falling asleep instead of studying before your exam.

Unfortunately, even with Iwaizumi’s wake up call, the morning class seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye.

“I gotta go,” you mumble as soon as the professor dismisses class. You hurriedly gather the mess you call your study materials sprawled out on the desk and pick up your unzipped backpack. “Bye.”

“Good luck,” Iwaizumi says simply as you begin scurrying out of the room in a scramble, stretching his arms and legs out with a yawn.

As he opens his eyes, he glances over at the empty seat where you were just sitting, his gaze landing on a familiar pocket-sized pouch beside your chair on the floor.

“Hey, you dropped your wallet—” Iwaizumi calls with a turn of his head, only to find that you were long gone.

Since when did you learn to move so fast? 

Left with no other choice, he gets up lazily to collect your wallet, shoving it into his backpack with an irritated click of his tongue.

 _Is this girl serious?_ Iwaizumi sighs. _Always such a damn pain._

He makes the decision to text you in a couple of hours, in case you’ve already started your exam or your phone goes off in the middle of it—he can never be too sure with you.

Well, that _was_ the original plan.

Until his phone died later during the day, and Iwaizumi was left without a cellular device or a charger.

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” he had cursed to himself in the middle of the library, eliciting a few annoyed-turned-fearful looks from all the people within a meter’s radius.

Iwaizumi remembered you complaining about having to sit in an enormous lecture hall for your last class of the day—since you always hated trying to swim your way out of the sea of people while he merely told you to just “grow taller”—which is how he’s ended up outside said lecture hall, impatiently waiting for you.

Iwaizumi swears to himself that this would be the _only_ time he’ll go out of his way to do you a favor.

He lets out an annoyed sigh as he leans against the wall beside the doors of the lecture hall, ignoring the unsubtle glances from passersby. 

Iwaizumi wishes you’d just hurry up already—he was supposed to leave school early today to run some errands, and yet he’s stuck here waiting for a girl who can’t even keep her own wallet from running away from her.

But Iwaizumi’s wish is granted a bit too soon, as hundreds of students start to flood out of the room, pushing and shoving past him with such force that makes even his balance waver.

He catches sight of the top of your familiar-looking head easily and calls out to you, causing a handful of people to turn.

“Oh, hey,” you exclaim loudly, making eye contact with him—he’s not hard to notice, considering he’s about a head taller than most of the people around.

Iwaizumi gestures for you to meet him outside the building with a tilt of his head, seeing how hard you’re struggling to make your way towards him in the ocean of bodies pressing against you. You nod in understanding and give him a thumbs up which can only be described as “dorky as fuck,” to which he rolls his eyes in response.

But just as you slowly squeeze past the countless strangers in order to get to the exit, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you realize it’s an email informing you that the scores for one of the exams you took earlier in the week has been posted online. 

You hold your breath and tap on the link in the email, waiting to be redirected to the page of the grade results. And just as you almost reach the building doors, your heart drops completely. 

49%. 

_There’s no way_ , you think to yourself, unable to tear your eyes away from the number beside your name. 

You studied fucking _hard_ for that exam, and, it wasn’t an easy subject, but there’s absolutely no way you got a 49%.

There’s just no way.

Mixed feelings of confusion, anger, sadness, and inadequacy wash over as you drag your feet along the floors. You’re greeted by the chilly air once you push open the doors, walking over to Iwaizumi, who’s waiting for you with his hands in his jacket pockets.

He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates upon seeing your face.

“What happened?” he asks casually, though watching you carefully.

“Huh?” You look up at him absentmindedly, distracted. 

Disappointed. 

Defeated.

“You look like you wanna die,” Iwaizumi states, making his observation clear. “So what happened?”

“I…” you take a deep breath, still visibly upset. “I failed one of my exams.”

Iwaizumi’s expression is unreadable as he says, “It’s just one test.”

But his words go right over your head.

“I know, but,” you start, a lump forming in your throat as you try to get the words out. “I studied really fucking hard for it, and there’s no way I should’ve failed.”

You press your lips together firmly, but that doesn’t stop the next jumble of sentences from tumbling out of your mouth.

“And honestly? I’ve just had a fucking shitty ass day,” you rasp, swallowing dryly. “I overslept this morning because I stayed up late studying last night, some girl spilled her coffee on me so I’ve just been walking around with this big shit-colored stain on my pants, skipped lunch in order to study for my other exam—which I couldn’t even do really because my club decided to give me even more work during my _free_ period, found out I’ve been working myself to fucking death for _nothing_ considering I just failed an exam that I probably wasted my time studying for, and I—”

Your voice breaks a little as tears begin to well up in your eyes, as much as you don’t want them to.

“And to top it all off, I lost my fucking wallet,” you finish, wiping away a small, stubborn droplet that’s escaped from the corner of your eye. “AUGH.”

You fall to a crouch as you turn away from Iwaizumi with your hands in your hair, at this point not even bothered by anyone who might look at you strangely in public.

Iwaizumi still hasn’t said a word, and you suddenly feel a bit guilty for just dumping all your frustrations on him.

_He probably doesn’t even care._

“Sorry—” you begin to apologize, but are cut off by the sight of Iwaizumi’s hand in front of your face—holding your wallet.

“I came to give you this,” he sighs as you take it from him. “You dropped it while you were in a rush to leave this morning.”

A small sense of relief washes over you as you take it from him, opening it to make sure all your money and cards are still inside.

“I didn’t rob you, idiot,” Iwaizumi scoffs, resisting the urge to just knock you over with his foot as you smile at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, just a reflex,” you sniffle, still crouching. “Why didn’t you just text me?”

“Phone died,” he shrugs.

“Oh,” you mumble. “Thanks for bringing it to me, and remembering where my class is.”

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi sighs again, putting his hand on the top of your head with a gentle gesture that feels like something between ruffling your hair and a light smack of your head. “Get up, you damn weirdo.”

You wipe your nose against your sleeve as you stand back up, putting your wallet back inside your backpack.

“If you really studied hard for that exam, just email your professor,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe someone made a mistake putting grades in.”

“Maybe,” you echo, though unconfidently.

Iwaizumi looks at you with a bit of uncertainty, as he lets out another breathy exhale.

“Go home and eat something,” he articulates with surprising authority. “And get some fucking sleep.”

“Okay,” you mumble, readjusting your backpack strap. 

Admittedly, you do feel a little better. Is it because now you know you didn’t _actually_ lose your wallet? Or because Iwaizumi is being surprisingly nice to you (as far as nice goes)? 

The bar _is_ rather low though.

You two turn to leave campus together, but don’t walk for long until Iwaizumi suddenly freezes in his tracks.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“The hell are you doing here?” Iwazumi’s face contorts with the most confusion and annoyance you’ve ever seen.

You follow his gaze to see one of the most attractive men you’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re almost certain your heart stops in your chest.

“Surprise!” the stranger sings, his chocolate-brown eyes twinkling with warmth as he walks towards you and Iwaizumi. “Happy to see me?”

“Never,” Iwaizumi growls. “I thought you weren’t coming until next week.”

“Hence, ‘ _surprise_ ,’ Iwa-chan,” he grins.

You let out a small chuckle at the cute nickname, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And who’s this?” the stranger asks, turning his attention to you—but something about the way he looks at you makes you feel like he’s already met you.

“Oh, hi!” you quickly introduce yourself to him as he takes your hands in his. They’re bigger than yours, and very warm.

“I’m Oikawa Tooru,” he smiles at you, leaving you in a daze, almost. He’s gorgeous.

“I’m Iwaizumi’s best friend.” 

Your jaw drops at Oikawa’s statement.

“ _This_ is your best friend?!” you almost yell, whipping your head around to look at Iwaizumi. 

Why does he look like he wants to kill someone?

“No,” he snaps. “And why is that such a surprise, anyway?”

“You two just seem so…” you trail off, trying not to stare at Oikawa’s charming smile. “Different.”

“Iwa-chan’s a tough cookie,” he giggles at you. The sound makes you want to laugh with him.

“‘Iwa-chan’ is cute,” you smirk at Iwaizumi, who looks like he’s going to pop a vein in his forehead. “Can I call you that?”

“Not if you don’t want to _die_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses. “What’re you doing here anyway, asshole?”

“To hang out with you, of course,” Oikawa says innocently as he runs his fingers through his wavy brown hair. “You’ll let me stay, won’t you?”

Oikawa bats his eyelashes at you, and your cheeks feel hotter than usual being sandwiched between these two guys.

Oikawa seems to be just a tad taller than Iwaizumi, not that it makes much of a difference since they’re both towering over you.

“Of course,” you laugh, to which Oikawa’s face lights up and Iwaizumi’s eye twitches.

“Oh wait, Iwa-chan, don’t you need to go pick something up at the pharmacy?” Oikawa ponders, throwing a glance his friend’s way.

“I can go later.”

“Why not now?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“I thought they close early today.”

Iwaizumi stiffens at this realization.

He’s right.

Meanwhile, Oikawa merely smiles sweetly at him.

Well, to Iwaizumi, the smile is about as sweet as a devil’s could get.

In fact, it’s looking real punchable right about now.

“Don’t be annoying,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath as Oikawa is already beginning to push him away, ushering him off the campus. “She needs to get her ass home.”

“Yes, yes, then I’ll take her home, ” Oikawa brushes off cheerfully. “What else is the problem?”

Iwaizumi glares at the evil spirit.

“Could you be afraid that I’ll take her from you?” Oikawa teases lightheartedly.

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty—”

“We’ll see you later then!” Oikawa gives Iwaizumi one final push and winks at you, while you simply stand and awkwardly watch their exchange.

You’ve never seen someone be so casual and comfortable around Iwaizumi, but you have to admit it’s like a breath of fresh air.

You like Oikawa, honestly.

Iwaizumi sighs in an irritated exasperation and finally leaves after grumbling some sort of threat against Oikawa, and the latter rejoins you.

“Well!” he chirps, clapping his hands together. “What should we do?”

“Um,” you say, realizing that you’re now left alone with someone you just met a few minutes ago, your only link quickly exiled from the situation. “Iwaizumi’s actually right, I should probably go home.”

Your stomach decides it also wants to be a part of the conversation as it suddenly grumbles _embarrassingly_ loudly.

“Sounds like we should get you some food before that,” Oikawa chuckles. “Come on, my treat—I’m hungry after my flight anyway.”

He’s surprisingly difficult to say no to.

“Okay,” you beam at him.

You two decide on visiting a local ramen restaurant, since the weather is so cold—and it was _definitely_ a good choice. There’s nothing like the comfort of a hot, steaming bowl of ramen and broth to warm you right back up.

Oikawa takes the lead for most of the conversation while you eat, telling you about himself and his life in Argentina (you were stunned at first to hear he’s a professional athlete, but even that didn’t compare to the way your jaw _dropped_ when Oikawa told you Iwaizumi played volleyball in high school), asking you about your life, as well as your relationship with his best friend.

“We’re just friends,” you laugh nervously. “At least, I think so? Sometimes I don’t even know if he likes me or not—maybe tolerate is a better word.”

“Don’t be silly,” Oikawa hums. “Can’t you tell that Iwa-chan barely interacts with anyone? Seems pretty clear to me that you two are friends.”

“Really?” you give him a sarcastic, skeptical look.

“Well does he talk to you?”

“I mean, I guess,” you say, scratching your head. “He comes to my workplace early on Monday mornings and we kind of just chill until school starts, and then we walk over to campus together.”

“Mhm,” Oikawa nods, listening carefully. “Go on.”

“We’ll text about homework and random stuff occasionally, I suppose,” you admit. “He’s also helped me out when I was in a tough situation—but he can be a little mean to me sometimes.”

“Well he’s mean to me too and I’m the closest to him,” Oikawa laughs. “So take my word for it, you two are friends. He’s just… got that tough guy shell, y’know?”

“Oh I know,” you roll your eyes, which elicits another small chuckle from him. 

You two sit quietly for a bit after as Oikawa watches you endearingly, resting his chin on the hand propped up against the table.

It’s hard not to get nervous under the gaze of someone so charismatic and handsome, but his company is unexpectedly comforting.

“So,” he purrs, breaking the silence as you look up at him. But his next question catches you off guard.

“Have you ever seen Iwa-chan _fight_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! comments are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoyed ♡


	4. natural.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You couldn’t believe your ears when Oikawa asked you, “Have you ever seen Iwa-chan fight?”  
> Well, long story short, now you have. And you’ve also done something else you never would’ve expected.
> 
> Soundtrack: "good day" by iann dior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what’s the TEEAAAA iwa-chan is FIGHTINGGGGG (ok but this was double the length of what i originally intended but i didn’t wanna make y’all wait an extra week when i lowkey promised iwa fighting for this week AKJDLKJDSN GAHHHHHH PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT BC THIS TOOK ME SO FREAKIN’ LONG OMG)

* * *

“W-what?” you blink in surprise and confusion at Oikawa’s question. “Like a real fight? With fists and stuff?”

If it weren’t for your unexpected, clearly oblivious response, Oikawa would’ve laughed at how cute and endearing your question was.

“Didn’t you just say he comes to your workplace early on Monday mornings?” he asks, taking his arm off the table to lean back into his chair.

“Yeah?” you say, suddenly nervous as the possibilities race through your head. “Oh my god, are you saying he’s out getting into fights? Like street fights??”

Oikawa presses his lips together, contemplating how to reply; he’d guessed that Iwaizumi wouldn’t be too keen on letting you in on every single detail of his life, but he _definitely_ didn’t think you two had gone this long being friends without Iwaizumi telling you what he’s been up to every Sunday night.

Well, that would explain why he was so against Oikawa hanging out with you alone.

“Is he…” you say hesitantly in a low voice, interrupting Oikawa’s thoughts. “In a gang?”

This time, Oikawa can’t stifle the little laugh that escapes his lips.

“Iwa-chan might look scary, but no, he’s not in a gang,” he chuckles at you, tapping his finger against his bottom lip.

Well, now that he’s already let Iwaizumi’s secret slip, the least he could do is clarify things a bit so you don’t get the wrong idea about his best friend _completely_.

“Iwa-chan is…” Oikawa starts, visibly amused at the way you’re hanging on attentively to his every word with wide eyes. “Something like an underground fighter.”

“A _what_?!” you exclaim, jaw dropping to the table.

“But!” Oikawa cuts you off before you can say anything else. “That’s all I can tell you for now, since I _would_ like to keep my head before Iwa-chan comes for my life.”

“Whaaat,” you groan. “You can’t just drop something like that on me and not elaborate.”

“Sorry sweetheart,” Oikawa chortles, the nickname making your heart flutter.

You don’t even realize you’re pouting until he smiles at your expression and says, “That cute look might work on Iwa-chan, but it won’t work on me.”

“I—”

You stiffen at his remark, unsure of how to respond, so you just don’t.

It’s clear Oikawa has set the boundaries for what he can’t disclose to you, and as much as it’s killing you, you have no choice but to respect it—this _is_ Iwaizumi’s life, after all.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa chirps. “We can talk about lots of other things—I may not be Iwa-chan, but I’m a pretty interesting guy too.”

“I’m sure you are,” you sigh and roll your eyes at him, shaking your head with a smile.

“Oh! I don’t even have your number,” he realizes, taking his phone out of his pocket to hand to you. “How could I miss out on this opportunity with such a cute girl?”

Although flattered by the compliment, you can suddenly understand the look that comes across Iwaizumi’s face when he wants to punch Oikawa. 

Just a little.

“Thank you~” Oikawa sings, plucking the device out of your hands as soon as you finish putting your information in. “Let me take a contact photo for you.”

“Right now?” You fidget in your seat, attempting to fix your hair a bit.

“Yup!” he grins, pointing the phone camera at you. “You look pretty—smile in one, two, three!”

You give a small smile at him, subconsciously tilting your head to the side.

He taps the screen once, and turns it around to show you how the photo turned out.

It looks alright, and you give him your nod of approval.

Oikawa hits “Save” under your contact photo, and swiftly sends it to Iwaizumi with a few quick taps. The empty ramen bowl in front of you in the picture should be enough to reassure him that Oikawa has fed you—not that Iwaizumi would admit to caring.

“Are you ready to go?” Oikawa asks, slipping his phone back into his pocket with a grin.

“Huh?” you look up back at him. “Oh, yeah. But we still have to pay—”

“I took care of the bill earlier,” he smiles, dismissing your concerns.

“How much was it?” you ask, scrambling to take out your wallet (that you thankfully haven’t lost).

“Don’t worry about it.” Oikawa cheerfully waves his hand at you, getting up from his seat. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

* * *

Iwaizumi opens the photo sent to him from Oikawa again, not quite _staring_ at it per se, but perhaps letting his eyes linger on your smile for just a second longer—until the bastard’s winking face and stupid peace sign suddenly light up the screen, Iwaizumi’s phone buzzing with the words “Incoming Call: Oikawa Tooru” plastered across the top.

Pressing the “Accept” button, Iwaizumi brings the device up to his ear, greeting his friend with what could only be described as an eerie silence.

“...Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi could swear that the mere _sound_ of Oikawa’s voice is enough to activate his fight-or-flight response.

“So how was _dinner_?” he finally asks, biting the last word of his question.

“It was good!” Oikawa chimes with sickening happiness through the phone. “She’s sweet. I like her. And I can see why you do too.”

“God, when will you shut up,” Iwaizumi growls, tempted to just end the call.

“But I maaay or may not have said something I shouldn’t have,” Oikawa quickly confesses before Iwaizumi has a chance to refute his last remark.

Dead silence.

Oikawa gulps, ready to face the consequences of his sins.

“I told her about your fights,” he blurts out, ripping the bandaid off.

“You _what_?” Iwaizumi barks into the microphone.

“This is what happens when you don’t tell me things,” Oikawa whines in an awful attempt to defend his actions. “You two have been hanging out for weeks! How can you expect me to think you’ve been keeping this from her this whole time? Which is soooo not a good idea, by the way.”

“You’re fucking dead, asshole,” Iwaizumi growls.

“I’m sorryyyy,” Oikawa wails dramatically. “I just told her you’re sort of an underground fighter, but not much else—I promise.”

Iwaizumi pinches the skin between his brows, quietly fuming. But what’s done is done.

He sighs.

“Well?”

Oikawa blinks on the other side of the line. “Well, what?”

“What’d she say?” Iwaizumi mumbles irritatedly.

Oikawa has to slap his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“She just wanted me to elaborate,” he says calmly, giving it his best effort to hide his amusement. Iwaizumi is just so _bad_ at acting like he doesn’t care sometimes. 

“I didn’t, of course—but she didn’t seem scared off or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A knot feels like it unties itself in Iwaizumi’s stomach.

“Hm,” he grunts.

“Am I off the hook?” Oikawa asks hopefully.

“I’m still gonna kill you next time I see you,” Iwaizumi mutters, hanging up with just _slightly_ less malice than when he’d picked up the call. 

Oikawa breathes a sigh of relief knowing his life has been spared at the tone of his friend’s voice, despite the threat just now.

And lucky for Oikawa, Iwaizumi is always as easy to read as an open book: there was _undoubtedly_ a release of tension when he found out that you weren’t scared off by his… activities outside of school, even if you don’t know much about it—yet.

Oikawa is starting to think that it might not be such a bad idea to just let you see for yourself what kind of lifestyle his best friend leads, to obliterate all those ridiculous guesses.

You somehow even believed that Iwaizumi was a _gangster_ , for god’s sake. Is that really what people are saying these days?

Well, Oikawa’s never liked the way that rumors tend to travel throughout your university.

* * *

This weekend was a much needed break from school, after the hell that was last week.

The most interesting thing that’s happened to you other than being able to sleep as much as you want for the first time in forever, is perhaps Oikawa’s occasional texts to you after your little impromptu hangout a few days ago.

You find it entertaining how he loves using emojis and exclamation marks in his texts—a stark contrast from the dry and gruff counterpart that is his best friend, who’s made a couple appearances in the pictures Oikawa would send you of them spending time together.

It’s almost lovable, the way Oikawa’s always smiling or sticking his tongue out at the camera, while Iwaizumi is evidently a few seconds away from socking him—despite half his face being obstructed by Oikawa’s in the photos.

Oikawa seems to have a naturally flirty way of interacting with people (or maybe just girls?), and, as charming as he is, you can appreciate how it’s also evident he’s not trying to get at you in any way. 

But he _does_ manage to keep you on your toes, because you’re gaping at the text message he just sent you on what would’ve been an otherwise peaceful Sunday afternoon.

> [18:04]  
>  **Oikawa** : hey! what’re you doing tonight :) wanna come with me to see iwa-chan fight?

After shutting you down at the ramen restaurant, you’re suddenly getting an invite to see it happen in person?

You feel bewildered, nervous, and a little scared without knowing what to expect, but you still text him back quickly.

> [18:06]  
>  **You** : can i??

And he responds just as fast.

> [18:07]  
>  **Oikawa** : of course! i’ll pick you up later ;)  
>  **Oikawa** : oh but also, you might want to get some sleep—it’ll be pretty late

You blink at his message.

> [18:08]  
>  **You** : ??? like how late?
> 
> [18:09]  
>  **Oikawa** : i’d say we should leave around 3am maybe?

Your jaw drops.

What the fuck?? 3am??

When is it supposed to end if you’re just _leaving_ at 3am?

> [18:11]  
>  **You** : holy shit
> 
> [18:11]  
>  **Oikawa** : i knoww i’m about to take a nap right now, so you should too! i’ll see you later tonight :)

You narrow your eyes at how he doesn’t even give you the option of backing out, maybe on purpose—not that you planned to, anyway.

Thank goodness you have the day off from school tomorrow.

You text him your address once more, just in case he forgot it after taking you home a few days ago, and let out a long sigh.

It doesn’t seem like there’s any option other than to sleep for a number of hours before what sounds like is about to be a crazy night—though you’re not sure if you’ll be able to get any real rest, with the way your heart is racing at the strange procession of events.

…Well, those were your last conscious thoughts and concerns before you’d knocked out _cold_ , waking up to the dark and quiet of the hour none other than midnight.

You want to be shocked— _appalled_ , almost—at your ability to just pass out like a rock, but, granted, it _has_ been quite a difficult and exhausting week.

So, honestly? Understandable.

Your next couple of hours mainly consist of cooking dinner (is there really a term for a meal at 1am?), making yourself look somewhat presentable (seriously, what do people wear to these kinds of things…), and pacing around your room until you finally feel the buzz of Oikawa’s long-awaited text.

> [02:57]  
>  **Oikawa** : i’m outside! you ready?

Taking one last glance in the mirror, you stuff your keys into your small crossbody bag before turning the lights off and opening the door.

Oikawa catches sight of you once you step outside, giving you a lighthearted wave in his black jacket and white t-shirt.

“Hellooo,” you greet him, stuffing your hands into your own jacket pockets. You look around the empty street, wondering if he drove here to pick you up.

“We’re taking the train since it’s faster that way,” he chuckles at your left-and-right glances. “I took a cab here so we can leave together.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod, realizing he must be talking about the station not far from where you live. “Where’s the uh, thing happening?”

“I believe it’s usually at an auto body shop not too far from your campus,” Oikawa hums, walking beside you. “But sometimes it changes, like today, so it’s a little further.”

“How do you know where it is?” you ask, your voice easily carrying through the still air.

“They text ticket-holders the address a few hours beforehand,” he explains. “But on days I don’t have a ticket, I’ll just bug Iwa-chan until he tells me.”

“Don’t have a ticket… like today?”

“Maybe,” he grins down at you, causing your heart rate to speed up.

You pray he knows what he’s doing.

As the two of you embark on your trip together to the mysterious location, you make several attempts to squeeze some information about Iwaizumi and this whole “fighting thing” out of Oikawa. Although, he seems to be well-aware of your intentions, with the way he easily picks-and-chooses which questions of yours to answer.

“Are you nervous?” Oikawa asks, noticing you grow quieter and quieter as the train arrives at your destination.

“A little,” you admit. “Don’t really know what to expect.”

“Hmm, well when we get there I’ll try to bribe the bouncer,” he says nonchalantly with a tap of his finger against his lip. “Then they’ll pat you down for weapons before letting you in, and I’m guessing they’re holding the matches downstairs.”

You shake your leg anxiously, waiting for him to continue.

“I think Iwa-chan is going third tonight,” he adds. “So we’ll just have to squeeze to the front of the crowd before he comes out—try to hold onto me later so you don’t get pushed over or anything.”

You gulp at his casual warning and wonder just what is that you’re signing up for.

“Is it dangerous?” you ask after a small hesitation.

“Not for us,” he shrugs, which doesn’t feel very comforting, for some reason. “For the fighters, yeah, probably—but I don’t think anyone’s _life_ has ever been in danger.”

Your face pales at how low the bar is.

“Is this even legal?” you breathe, the question almost drowned out by the sound of the train’s engines as it slowly halts.

“Does Iwa-chan look like he cares if things are legal or not?” Oikawa responds with a chuckle. “You’re the one who thought he was a gangster.”

Your mouth clamps shut at his remark.

“Come on,” he says, getting up from his seat. “We’re here.”

Following him out of the vehicle, you finally manage to spit out the question you’ve contemplated asking for the past ten minutes, for fear of how stupid it’ll sound.

“Is it scary?” you squeak, to which Oikawa pauses in his tracks.

“Your first time might feel a little scary,” he answers, a reassuring smile on his lips as he resumes walking. “But Iwa-chan’s _really_ good—today’s an important match for him, and trust me, you might wanna see it.”

“Why is it an important match?” you blink, but Oikawa merely grins at you teasingly, once again hiding things from you.

You trail behind him, huffing as he leads the way to the source of your apprehension.

After about ten minutes of walking, you see a bar with a dimly lit “OPEN” sign come into view, stiffening as you realize you’ve arrived.

“Where is everyone?” you whisper to Oikawa, noting the emptiness of the street, barring the one tall and, for lack of a better word, terrifying-looking man standing by the door—probably the bouncer. “I thought you said there would be a crowd.”

“We’re a little late,” Oikawa answers, putting on a cheerful expression to greet the bouncer. “Standing in line is pointless and a pain, since we’re just here for Iwa-chan anyway.”

He strolls up to the bar entrance, stopping in front of the man who’s at least another head taller than Oikawa himself.

“Tickets?” the stranger asks gruffly, eyeing you up and down.

Oikawa shifts his body to the left, obstructing your view from the man before pulling out a few bills from his back pocket.

“For me, and the lady,” he smiles sweetly, slipping it into the bouncer’s hand.

Your eyes widen upon catching a brief glimpse at the number printed on the bills—you make that much in about a _week_.

The man clicks his tongue in annoyance, but moves aside to allow the two of you entry after briefly patting you down like Oikawa said he would.

A bartender stands near the entrance, wiping down glass cups and gestures you two towards a staircase near the back of the room. Oikawa gives a polite wave of thanks and strolls in that direction, making his way down the steps.

After reaching a large, metal door at the bottom of the staircase, Oikawa turns to you.

The muffled sounds of people cheering and yelling makes you uneasy.

“Ready?” he asks, and you give him a small nod. “Just hold onto me while I get us to the front.”

“Okay.”

Oikawa pushes the handle as the heavy door creaks open, you following closely behind him with one hand clutching his jacket. 

You’re greeted by a wave of warmth of the large underground basement, the musty air filled with an array of smells, ranging from cigarette and marijuana smoke to cheap beer.

But the roaring of your loud environment is enough to distract you from the less than pleasant smell, and, as you approach the crowd of a hundred people or so gathered in the center of the dimly lit room, Oikawa turns around and takes your hand off his jacket and into his own hand.

“Didn’t expect there to be this many people,” he bends down and says in your ear, leading you towards the mass. 

You let him guide you through the people packed like sardines, taking note of how you _definitely_ don’t look like you belong here—most of the men are tall and _ripped_ , tattoos decorating their arms and chests. Even the women here look several years older than you, their makeup dark and alluring, with racy outfits to match.

Yeah, as an awkward university student, you stick out just a _little_ bit.

“FUCK HIM UP!” you hear a man scream from beside you, flinching instinctively as he pumps his fist in the air. You crane your neck to try to see what’s happening, but the attempt is unsuccessful with all these bodies blocking you.

Oikawa finally manages to slowly squeeze past the hoard of people, still holding your hand, until he reaches the front and lets go of it.

You find yourself pressed against a steel barricade with Oikawa close behind you, and notice that the metal racks are set up in a large oval to shield the onlookers from the two [huge, beefy] fighters, referee, and announcer in the center.

You gasp as you see one of the shirtless men in the center punch his opponent square in the face several times with enough force to render him unconscious, your hands flying to your mouth in shock and horror. 

The referee blows into his whistle with a shrill screech.

The crowd goes absolutely _wild_ as they cheer in varying intensities once the referee holds up one arm of each fighter at a time.

“What happened?!” you shout at Oikawa, unsure of what to make of the situation since no one was passed out like you thought they’d be. “Who won?”

Oikawa points at the man who threw the punches you saw earlier, and leans down to your ear-level so you can hear him over the noise.

“There’s three rounds, three minutes each,” he says loudly. “The winner is determined by audience cheers, or if one fighter either admits defeat or just can’t fight anymore.”

You nod and watch the victor pound his boxing gloves against his glistening, muscular chest in triumph—not too different from the way a gorilla would assert its dominance in the jungle—as the crowd continues showering him with love through their cries of admiration. 

He then makes his way across the ring and leans over the metal rack, locking his lips with a woman who immediately wraps her arms around his neck with adoration and familiarity.

Their makeout session is so intense with the hair-pulling and lip-biting that you feel like you’re interrupting something, though the rest of the audience is howling with excitement at the show.

You look at Oikawa, who merely shrugs at you and says, “Men.”

“And now, the match you’ve all been waiting for…” you hear the commentator’s voice ring through the large speakers from all over the room. “Number two—”

He gestures for the new fighter to enter the ring after the previous ones left with a wave of his hand, to which the audience cheers.

The new contestant looks scary, to say the least. It’s either the fact that his muscles are absolutely _monstrous_ , or that he’s probably well over six feet tall, or the nasty scar next to his right eye.

“And number four!”

You turn your head to where the steel barricades are being moved to welcome the new fighter, and your heart stops in your chest.

“Number two, who remains undefeated thus far,”

Time seems to freeze as you drown out the cheers around you.

“Versus number four, who’s making a quick and impressionable climb up the ranks!”

You see Iwaizumi making his way into the ring, shirtless and wearing a pair of black shorts with a red tick mark at the bottom, with black and red gloves to match.

Your jaw drops so hard you don’t notice the way Oikawa is smirking at your reaction.

Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s eye as a look of surprise flashes across his face, and you turn to Oikawa just in time to see him wearing an innocent, cheeky smile and sticking his tongue out.

He points down at you to his best friend with an excitement that only says, “Look who I brought!”

You snap your head back around as you lock eyes with Iwaizumi, his gaze piercing through you. Your heart feels like it’s going to pound right out of your chest at the sight of his tan, muscular build, as well as the large tattoo of a dragon on his right shoulder blade which you’ve never seen.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker back up to Oikawa’s, a familiar expression of disbelief and irritation across his face once he looks back down at you.

He tightens the straps on his gloves with his teeth, his canines biting down at the fabric without breaking eye contact. You give him a small wave, and he just sighs… but gives you a small smile in return.

Your heart feels like it’s on the cusp of bursting.

“What’s this?” the announcer’s voice booms through the room. “It looks like number four has brought a lovely lady friend of his own this time!”

Before you realize it, all eyes in the room are on you as you freeze in fear, looking frantically up at Oikawa for help. He just nudges you as you avoid making eye contact with all the gazes being thrown your way, but thankfully the moment is over as soon as it began.

“Looks like everyone is aware of your existence now,” Oikawa laughs at your stiffness.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Alright gentlemen,” the announcer bellows theatrically, standing in between Iwaizumi and his opponent. “Rules are the same as always! No kicking, biting, or shots below the belt—if one of you admits defeat or is unable to move, the match is automatically over!”

Iwaizumi tilts his neck to the left, then to the right, loosening up with a few cracks as the low light accentuates the cutting sharpness of his jawline.

“And… start!”

The next few minutes feel like a fever dream.

You’re gripping the metal bars anxiously as you watch the two men defend their respective pride and fighting records.

Iwaizumi’s opponent is undoubtedly larger and stronger, but Iwaizumi is fast and precise—his swings are calculated, and when he does throw a punch, he does it with a force on par with the other’s. 

The end of the first two three-minute rounds sound like a tie between the two men, with both fighters receiving equally loud cheers from the crowd.

It isn’t until a minute into the third round, that Iwaizumi’s opponent takes a quick shot at his head and you gasp, your hands flying to your mouth once again to muffle a mortified, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

But Iwaizumi had ducked right in time, supporting himself with his quads before hoisting his entire body weight into a solid punch into his opponent’s stomach.

And then another, followed by one more.

Iwaizumi swiftly moves out of the way in response to his opponent’s retaliation and squeezes in _one_ more punch to the face, before swinging his arm around the other’s head and putting him into a headlock from behind.

The veins in Iwaizumi’s arms and the curves of his biceps are… truly a sight for sore eyes.

“Number two,” against his pride, finally thumps his gloved hand against Iwaizumi’s arm repeatedly with a face so reddish and purple that you think his head is going to pop from suffocation.

Iwaizumi releases his opponent and the crowd goes _insane_. 

It takes you a second to process that the big, scary man had just admitted _defeat_. To Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi’s won.

The audience is still cheering loudly when you realize he’s made his way towards you, giving Oikawa a fist bump with a confident puff of his chest, who just smiles back at him knowingly.

You’re still clapping along with everyone else when Iwaizum looks down at you from the other side of the steel barricade, and you notice that all eyes are on you once again.

Your mind flashes back to the previous victor who started making out with his girlfriend, and you suddenly realize with horror what Oikawa meant when he said “everyone is aware of your existence now.”

“Aren’t you gonna give him a prize for winning?” Oikawa teases, an evil glint in his eye, while Iwaizumi faces you, leaning against the metal racks with sweat rolling down his skin.

Overwhelmed by hundreds of people staring at you with expectant eyes, you take a deep breath and reach your hands out to hold Iwaizumi’s face, bringing him down to your level before pressing a kiss to his cheek on your tiptoes.

The onlookers are roaring and hollering again at the action, as if Iwaizumi just won another match.

His eyes widen slightly as he wraps a strong arm around your waist, tugging your body into a small hug against his bare skin before you pull away.

Oikawa watches with a smug smile on his lips while your cheeks burn with embarrassment as adrenaline courses through your body, still in shock over what you just did.

But perhaps what makes your heart race even faster, is the way Iwaizumi looks so handsome smiling at the crowd, as if glowing with pride.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen the stoic Iwaizumi look so… happy.

* * *

“I’m tired,” Oikawa yawns, stretching his arms out as Iwaizumi walks out of the men’s shower.

You’re not sure which one is more distracting: the fact that Oikawa just casually pulled you into the empty men’s locker room with him to wait for Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi with damp hair, or Iwaizumi without a shirt on, still.

Oikawa takes out his phone to check the time, and you see the numbers “04:51” light up on the screen.

“I’m gonna take a cab home,” he announces, putting the device away into his pocket. “Iwa-chan, you’ll take her back, won’t you?”

“You’re not coming with us?” you ask in surprise.

“No space,” Oikawa smirks, without an explanation. “I’ll see you two later, and good job today, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, waving him off. “Thanks.”

You also wave a confused goodbye to Oikawa as he exits the locker room, leaving you and Iwaizumi alone.

Suddenly reminded of the way you just _kissed_ him earlier, your face flushes with a burning heat as you try to think of something to say.

“Uh, nice tattoo,” you choke out, cringing inside at your terrible, awkward attempt.

Well, you’re not lying.

The dragon on his shoulder blade is… intense, but absolutely gorgeous.

“Thanks,” he says, finally throwing a black t-shirt over his head, leaving you with nowhere to look other than his abs that must’ve been sculpted by God himself. “My friend did it for me.”

“Woah, that’s really cool,” you exclaim, following behind him as he grabs his belongings. 

A small smile tugs at his lips while he beckons you out of the locker room with him, walking through a door that leads you to an alleyway out back.

You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

You blink at him, and reply with a grin, “I could go for a snack.”

“Alright, I’ll take us somewhere,” he says, his breath resembling a puff of smoke in the cold air. You trail behind him towards the parking lot, but stop in your tracks at his next question.

“You ever been on a motorcycle?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments are greatly greatly appreciated (esp bc i poured so much time and energy into this chapter lksjnlksdj) and i hope you enjoyed! ♡


	5. opening.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi takes you on your first [terrifying] motorcycle ride, and finally starts to give you some of the answers you’ve been looking for (over some burgers and fries).
> 
> Soundtrack: "Eleven" by Khalid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the rushed chapter, i’ve had a super rough week y’all :( hopefully you’ll still enjoy it??? it’s definitely on the tamer side compared to last week ahhhh i hope you’ll like it :(

* * *

“A _what_?!” you yelp, eyes practically popping out of their sockets in disbelief. “A motorcycle? You drive a _motorcycle_?!”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi cocks his head at you, half amused and half irritated—no, more like, tired. One _hundred_ percent done with you.

“Of course you do,” you groan, thinking about how fitting the vehicle is for his whole “bad boy” image and whatnot.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” he snaps, a vein protruding on his forehead.

“Nothing,” you shrug, waving him off. “How come I’ve never seen you ride it?”

“It’s been in the shop for a couple months,” he answers with a small glare as he continues walking, leading you closer towards the deserted parking lot behind the building. “So I’ve just been taking the train everywhere.”

Oh, right.

The train _was_ where Iwaizumi left quite the first impression on you, after all.

You follow closely behind him, eyes lingering on the way light from the street lamps bounce off of his footprints on the damp pavement.

And then, you see it.

The sleek, two-wheeled motorbike that just _might_ be the death of you, its smooth, black paint glistening in even the dimly-lit parking lot.

You inhale sharply at the sight; sure, it’s scary. But you don’t need to know anything about motorcycles to know that this is one _sexy_ bike.

“What, are you scared?” Iwaizumi turns around to look at you, the sound of your breath never escaping his sharp ears.

“Um, maybe?” you gulp. Your fingers in your pockets feel even colder than before, which you didn’t know was possible in the brisk, 5am air. “Okay, yeah, I’ve never been on a motorcycle.”

The shadows being casted over Iwaizumi’s face make it difficult to tell if his smirk is a reassuring one, or an evil one.

He contemplates telling you to just suck it up and stop being a baby, but decides to play nice for today. He’s in a good mood.

“You’ll be fine,” he says with positive assurance, unhooking the shiny, black helmet from the handlebar it was hanging on. “Just hold on tight—I’ll drive slowly.”

You puff out your cheeks as you take a deep breath and nod.

It’s almost hard to believe that you’re about to get on Iwaizumi Hajime’s motorcycle with him in the middle of the night, after agonizing whether you two were even _friends_ or not just a week ago—funny how life works.

He gives you a look of slight uncertainty, but walks over to you and puts both arms over your head, resting the bottom of the large helmet against the nape of your neck.

You blink in surprise at the sudden intimacy, your face only a few inches from his chest—but your phone buzzes before he can pull the protective hat over the rest of your skull.

“Hold on,” you say awkwardly, fumbling to get your phone out of your pocket.

“Put your phone in your bag,” he chides irritatedly, but stepping back to give you space. “Unless you want it to fly out of your pocket and get run over by a bunch of cars in the middle of the street—and I’m _not_ stopping to get it for you.”

“I will, I will,” you say mindlessly, opening the email that you’d just received.

Your eyes widen at the first sentence on the screen.

Iwaizumi shifts his weight onto one foot, waiting impatiently with the helmet tucked under his arm.

You glance up at him with a shocked expression on your face, and he raises his eyebrow at you.

“What,” he sighs. You look like you’re about to burst.

“I got a ninety four on my exam!” you yell, your voice echoing through the quiet streets. “I emailed the professor like you said last week, and one of the teaching assistants just emailed me back and apologized for the mix-up.”

You don’t expect him to care, but Iwaizumi’s face visibly softens at the endearing way you’re practically glowing with happiness and relief.

He clicks his tongue at you.

“I told you so,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Feels bad for whichever teaching assistant is still up fixing grades at the crack of satan’s ass, though.”

“Oh, that’s true,” you giggle, scrunching up your nose.

It’s a small matter, but there’s a warm, bubbly feeling festering in your chest—one of gratitude towards Iwaizumi for what he said to you last week. If it weren’t for him, you might’ve just accepted your fate and thrown yourself a pity party, wondering how you could ever have thought your hard work would pay off on an actual exam.

“Get over here,” he sighs, seeing you space out before him.

He pulls you in by the shoulder until your face is just barely touching his chest again, and properly puts the thick helmet over your head. 

It all happens so fast that your heart doesn’t have time to start racing until you’re already blinking at him through the little opening of the helmet.

“What about you?” you ask, watching him turn around to unlock the motorcycle.

“I’ll be fine,” he replies, giving your head a small push backwards. “Now put your phone away and get on.”

You gulp as you stare at the leather seat, unsure if you should be excited or terrified.

Stuffing your device into your crossbody bag, you carefully (awkwardly) swing your leg over the large rear end of the motorcycle, losing your balance as your weight almost topples you over onto one foot.

You fall backwards into Iwaizumi’s chest as he stifles a laugh, pressing his lips firmly together while holding you steady with one strong arm.

“Sorry,” you mutter, embarrassed and trying to regain your composure. But he doesn’t say anything as he just waits for you to get yourself settled onto the seat.

“It’s simple,” Iwaizmi says, getting onto the motorcycle once he’s certain you’re not going to fall off. “Just put your arms around me and don’t let go.”

“Okay.”

You wrap your arms around him like he’s instructed, interlocking your fingers in front of his stomach while still leaving a respectable distance between your bodies; Iwaizumi’s wearing at least two layers with his hoodie and his jacket, yet you can still somehow feel how firm and muscular his body is through the clothing.

It’s funny how your hands still feel like they’re sweating when it’s _freezing_ outside.

“You might wanna hug me just a little tighter,” Iwaizumi sighs loudly. “You’re not gonna last very long like that.”

His point is proven when he revs his engine, automatically causing you to jump and tighten your grip on his body, pressing your chest against his back.

“Ready?” he calls to you over the sound of his roaring motor.

He sees you nod your head under the bulky helmet in his side mirror, and lifts his foot off the ground, accelerating into the empty streets.

Your heart lodges itself into your throat once you feel your bodies start to move, the biting wind coursing past the exposed skin of your neck.

Frankly, it’s terrifying. 

_Exhilarating_ , but terrifying.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter under your breath, clutching Iwaizumi firmly as you fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut.

Even with the helmet on, you can feel the cold air stinging your eyes, bringing them close to the brink of tears.

You watch the buildings and street lights fly past you as Iwaizumi speeds through the streets, the howling of the wind and the rumble of his engine filling your ears.

“I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE GONNA GO SLOW!” you cry, clinging onto him for dear life.

He lets out a loud, breezy laugh that you can just barely hear.

“I am going slow, you loser!” he yells back at you, smirking to himself at how cute you look.

The way you’re hugging him like your life depends on it (because it does) tempts him to speed up even more, but Iwaizumi decides that he’d prefer you _not_ to pass out and fall off his motorcycle.

He can’t deny that it’s really not so bad, the two of you cruising through the tranquil air of the night, your body pressed close against his.

Maybe he _does_ like having you around.

* * *

“That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” Iwaizumi asks with a taunting grin, dismounting himself from the vehicle.

“I think that just took ten years off my lifespan,” you breathe, legs wobbling while still straddling his seat.

He lets out another chuckle as he makes his way around to you, helping you get off of the motorcycle so you don’t topple over.

“You’re so dramatic,” he says, rolling his eyes while he takes your helmet off with one swift motion.

You just shake your head at him, hair a slight mess, and Iwaizumi lets you continue holding onto his arm for support as you two walk into the 24-hour diner you’ve just arrived at.

Just this once.

“What do you want?” Iwaizumi turns to you once he’s approached the cash register.

“Anything’s good,” you answer quickly, looking around at how empty the place is. “A burger and fries, maybe?”

Iwaizumi turns back around to the cashier who looks _much_ too tired to be working such an early shift, and places your order with his own.

You trail behind him as he chooses a table by one of the large windows, the neon lights on the wall illuminating his face with a soft, pink glow.

You practically collapse into the booth cushions as you rest your legs, stomach suddenly growling again with the hunger that’s crept up on you.

“How much was the food?” you ask, looking down at your bag to take out your wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi yawns.

“Are you sure?” You tilt your head at him. “I can pay for my own portion.”

“I just got my paycheck today, so it’s fine,” he answers, waving his hand at you. 

“Wow, I love being with you and Oikawa,” you grin. “Never have to pay for anything.”

“You can pay next time,” he rolls his eyes at you. “Gender equality or whatever.”

You scowl at him as the corner of his lip twitches upwards.

The absurdity of your situation dawns on you suddenly as you two wait for your food in silence.

There’s just been so much to process.

You went from _barely_ knowing anything about Iwaizumi, to watching him fight in an underground ring, to kissing him in front of hundreds of people, to being perched on the backseat of his motorcycle and somehow winding up at a diner in the middle of the night.

How did this even happen?

“What,” he says suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

You don’t realize how many minutes have passed.

“What?” you echo.

“You look like you’re dying to ask me something,” he sighs. “So I’ll answer some of your questions if you have them.”

“Really?” you blink at him.

“Just this once,” he answers, leaning back into the booth as a waiter arrives with your food.

You thank the employee as Iwaizumi slides a milkshake across the table towards you.

“And drink some of this,” he adds. “You also look like you’re still on the edge of passing out from earlier.”

“Oooo, thanks,” you chirp, not needing to be told twice. You take a sip of the drink and smile at how sweet and creamy it is, while Iwaizumi takes a big bite into his burger.

It’s crazy how you can see the veins in his neck and every movement of his jaw as he chews—so _that’s_ what it’s like to be super fit.

“How long have you been doing this?” you ask, dipping a golden fry into the small cup of ketchup and popping it into your mouth.

It’s warm and salty.

“Fighting?”

You nod, picking up another fry.

“Since my last year of high school,” Iwaizumi says after some thought, taking another bite of his food.

“Does anyone else ever come watch you?” you question, this time picking up your own burger.

“Oikawa and some of my other friends from high school used to,” he answers, reaching for your milkshake as you push it towards him. “But not really after Oikawa went to Argentina, and the other two got busy with their own lives too.”

“What about your other friend?” you press, trying not to sound _too_ curious.

“What other friend?” he cocks his head at you, taking another sip of your drink before somehow finishing off his food in two large, quick bites.

“Your, uh,” you stumble, starting to look slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, fuck buddy?” he asks, putting two and two together as you stiffen with a small nod. “Hana? Nah—well, she came occasionally but I never asked her to.”

“Oh.”

Technically, Iwaizumi didn’t ask you to either.

You look down and take another bite into your burger while Iwaizumi dips two french fries into his own little cup of ketchup, eyeing you carefully.

“Is it, um,” you begin, clearing your throat once you’ve swallowed your food. “...illegal?”

You lower your voice at the last word.

“What do you think?” Iwaizumi crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking at you with what could only be described as amusement.

“I don’t think.”

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh at your words, which eases the tension in your shoulders. He looks a lot less scarier when he laughs.

“Then why do you do it?” you ask again, reaching for the milkshake that you two are now sharing.

“For money,” he says simply, picking up another fry.

“Why don’t you do something else?” you crane your head in genuine confusion and frown. “Less dangerous and less… illegal?” 

Your eyes trail down to the purplish bruises on his knuckles that you’ve grown accustomed to seeing.

Iwaizumi unzips his backpack and takes out his phone, giving the device a few taps before turning it around to show it to you.

You notice the bank logo in the corner before even processing the number on the screen, your jaw dropping at the amount.

“That’s what I made _today_ ,” Iwaizumi mentions, putting his phone away once more.

“That’s…” you breathe. “Crazy. How does that even work?”

“It’s complicated,” he sighs. “The nutshell version is that there are sponsors for each fighter, sometimes people bet on the matches, we get a certain percentage if we win, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Is that part of the reason why today was an important match for you?” you ask, much too invested to remember the burger still in your hands.

“Did Oikawa tell you that?” Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh… maybe?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, a lot of people were betting on the winners of today’s match,” he explains, cracking his neck with a tilt of his head towards his shoulder. “My sponsor promised me a pretty big sum of money today if I won, because he gets even more money from the people who lose their bets.”

“Who’s your sponsor?” you ask in disbelief, unable to wrap your mind around how there’s an entire market for this.

“I’ve never actually met him,” Iwaizumi shrugs again. “Probably some rich corporate asshole who’s got too much time on his hands—this stuff isn’t exactly legal, remember?”

“Riiiight.”

You finally remember to take another bite of your burger as you chew thoughtfully, a memory resurfacing to the front of your mind.

“Iwaizumi,” you say as he looks up at you. “So why were you running from the police that time?”

“One of our matches got busted.”

That makes sense.

He watches you with mild interest before asking, “Why? What’d you think happened?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “I used to think you were a gangster or something.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and you wonder if that was dumb to say.

“Well, I do know a few people who are _in_ gangs, since there’s a lot of overlap in these types of circles,” he chuckles, clearly amused. “But no, I’m not in a gang.”

Hearing him say that makes you feel relieved, for some odd reason.

You finish the rest of your food as well as your milkshake, your stomach nice and satisfied.

“I think that’s enough answers for today,” Iwaizumi says, getting up from his seat as he sees you rub your eyes. “It’s getting pretty late—or early. Whatever.”

“What,” you protest, thinking of all the questions you’ve yet to ask. “But—”

“The sun is literally about to rise, idiot,” he cuts you off with a tone not too different from a parent’s scold. “You’re lucky we don’t have class today.”

“That’s true…”

“Come on,” he says, picking up his backpack. “I’ll take you home.”

“Fine,” you give a small pout, and Iwaizumi tries not to look at you while you do.

You follow him out of the diner after thanking the employees, warm cheeks greeted once again by the piercing cold.

Iwaizumi walks in front of you quietly, hands tucked into his pockets as he makes his way towards the motorcycle.

Oh man, the motorcycle.

Perhaps it’s the lethargy of having a carb-loaded meal, but you don’t feel as terrified as you did an hour earlier.

“Thanks for coming today,” Iwaizumi suddenly murmurs, turning around so he can put the helmet back onto you.

You stare at him, your reaction slightly slower than usual as the fatigue gradually catches up to your body after a long night.

“Uh, yeah,” you say awkwardly, shifting the weight between your feet. “You looked cool today.”

He blinks at you, pausing for a second as he puts a hand to the top of your head, ruffling your hair before pulling the helmet over your skull.

“Try not to fall asleep on the way back,” he chuckles, giving the helmet a small slap. “I’m not responsible if you fall to your death that way.”

“I won’t,” you huff, this time swinging your leg over the motorcycle seat with a bit more ease than earlier—though, granted, you’re still holding onto Iwaizumi’s arm for support.

He clicks his tongue at you before getting on himself, thinking about how it was nice seeing two familiar faces during his match today.

There was a small sense of pride that swelled up in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a while—that he maybe wouldn’t mind feeling again for his next match.

“Ready?” he calls to you as you tighten your grasp around his waist once more.

As you nod in response, you smile softly under the confines of his heavy helmet, thinking about how the barrier you’ve felt between yourself and renowned bad boy Iwaizumi Hajime has finally started to crumble with the events of this one, single night.

What you don’t see though, is the way he grins slightly to himself at the little squeeze of your arms around him, before you two speed off into the night once more, the dark skies slowly lightening with a soft, bluish hue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this update! comments are greatly appreciated, and i'd love to know your thoughts :') thanks for reading!


	6. danger.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try getting Iwaizumi to go to a party with you.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Best on Earth" by Russ ft. BIA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i’m rly iffy ab this chapter bc i wanted to write it like how movies flash between scenes but idk if i captured that OTL i hope you guys like it omg and i’m sorry if you don’t but next week’s will be better!! i was in a rush and pissed off today so i got super thrown off ahhhhh

* * *

“So?” Oikawa’s voice travels smugly through the phone at an hour much too early for Iwaizumi to tolerate.

“So?” Iwaizumi echoes with a croak, rubbing his eyes with sore arms that remind him of his eventful night.

“How was your date?” Oikawa asks cheerfully.

“It wasn’t a date,” Iwaizumi grumbles, too tired to yell at his pest of a best friend. “We just got some food and I took her home after… why the fuck are you calling me so early—”

“It’s three in the afternoon, Iwa-chan.”

As Iwaizumi becomes more and more conscious while the morning grogginess wears off, he’s also gradually reminded of all the bones he has to pick with Oikawa.

“And why the fuck did you bring her, you asshole?” Iwaizumi barks into the phone, slowly regaining his energy. 

“Well that’s not a nice way to thank me,” Oikawa chides, clicking his tongue. “You looked pretty happy when she kissed you, if you ask me.”

Iwaizumi is grateful that Oikawa isn’t here to see the tips of his ears burn a deep red.

“What if you traumatized her, man,” Iwaizumi groans, rolling over onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes.

“Mm…” Oikawa hums, hiding his amusement at Iwaizumi’s concern. “I don’t think she’s the type to do anything she’s not comfortable with, but you two are pretty cute together, honestly. And I think she had fun, don’t you?”

Iwaizumi slides his forearm up his forehead as he opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

“Whatever,” Iwaizumi sighs, stretching his limbs out with a yawn. “I’m still gonna beat your ass.”

“What, _why_?!”

* * *

Your first conversation with Hana is one filled with distractions.

You find your eyes somehow, once again, fixated on the shimmering, peachy gloss that rests on her lips. 

Despite making friendly eye contact and exchanging amiable smiles occasionally, you’ve never actually had a real conversation or full interaction with Hana, other than that brief encounter with Iwaizumi.

So the fact that she’s gone out of her way to talk to you after your club meeting, still looking beautiful and glamorous while you look like you’ve been run over by a garbage truck, is truly beyond you.

“How do you like your position in the club?” she asks, readjusting the shoulder bag hanging off her arm as you two walk down the hall.

“It’s okay,” you say, redirecting your attention to giving a cohesive response rather than questioning how Hana’s makeup still looks perfect and untouched even after a long school day. “It’s definitely a bit more work than I anticipated, but I’m glad I got the position.”

“Yeah, that’s how they get you,” she rolls her eyes with a smile, flashing you a row of pearly white teeth on par with that of a toothpaste commercial model’s. “But I think you’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, rubbing your neck. “I’m trying.”

Your affable conversation is interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, a video call request lighting up the screen with a name you don’t recognize at the top.

“One sec,” she chirps, pressing the green button to accept the call. “What’s up?”

You two continue walking, but you see the face of an unfamiliar man on her phone screen out of the corner of your eye.

“Just wanted to see what you were feeling for dinner tonight,” his low voice chuckles, the low sound reverberating through the speakers.

“Surprise me,” Hana winks, before waving goodbye to the man smirking on the other line, who’s clearly smitten with her.

“Is that your boyfriend?” you ask after she hangs up, a hint of surprise in your voice. You still aren’t quite sure where she and Iwaizumi stand, but you opted not to bring him up since he was… less than pleasant to her last time, to say the least.

“No, no,” she laughs, waving her manicured hand around.

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize, slightly embarrassed for jumping to conclusions.

“Don’t worry about it,” she reassures you. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Oh, no I don’t.” This time it’s your turn to laugh as you add jokingly, “Guys suck. And guys on this campus suck even more.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Hana giggles. “I mean, do you want to be in a relationship? It’s fine if you don’t.”

“I think it would be nice,” you admit after some thought (that may or may not have drifted off to a certain shady, gruff guy you know). “But it’ll happen when it happens.”

“What about Hajime?” she asks casually, causing you to choke on your saliva as if you were just caught red-handed.

“Uh, we’re just friends,” you sputter, and try to catch your breath again. “How do you two know each other?”

“Hm… I guess you could say I met him at work,” she answers, pulling out her phone to check the time.

“Ohh.”

Hana doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t pry, since Iwaizumi doesn’t exactly lead a virtuous lifestyle either.

“I’m gonna head that way to go home,” she says, pointing in the direction opposite of the route to your train station, once you’ve arrived at your parting point.

“Sounds good!” you smile at her as she turns to leave. “It was nice talking to you.”

“You too,” she winks, giving you a small wave goodbye. “Get back safe!”

You watch Hana’s figure get further away as she leaves, her long legs carrying her strides with ease and grace. 

You’re well aware that Iwaizumi isn’t too fond of her, but maybe his rude behavior was a bit uncalled for—well, that’s _his_ business. You appreciate Hana’s friendly nature (to you, at least), and it’s not like he ever gave you a reason to dislike her with his whole “unwilling to open up” thing.

For now, you like her.

* * *

Your fifth conversation with Hana happens a week and a half later, at the end of yet another long week.

“What?” you blink, paused in your tracks.

“I said,” Hana chuckles at your double take. “Do you wanna come to a party one of my friends is throwing on Saturday night?”

“Um,” you begin, a bit hesitant while resuming your walk down the hallway outside your club classroom. “I don’t think I’m gonna know anyone there, Hana.”

“That’s okay!” she says, resting a hand on your shoulder. “It’s actually not a friend from school who’s hosting—plus it’ll be a random mix of people from school, my work, their extended friends, the friends of their friends… you get the point. So it’s not like anyone’s super close.”

“Hm…”

“And tell Hajime to come too,” she adds, noticing your hesitation. “He’s too uptight all the time, and should have some fun once in a while.”

You force a smile at her, the sense of familiarity in which she speaks about Iwaizumi putting a sliver of insecurity in your own relationship with him.

“I don’t know,” you respond dubiously. “He’s so stubborn, I doubt he’ll give in if he doesn’t wanna go.”

“You just gotta ask again!” Hana says matter-of-factly, tilting her head to the side, as if shaking Iwaizumi’s unwavering reluctance is something completely natural to her.

You wonder just how well she knows him, and the depth of their past relationship, but you’d die before you asked.

This puts another crack in your confidence, but you do your best to brush it aside.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” you sigh, giving into her enthusiasm, which is nothing short of contagious. “No promises though.”

“Perfect,” she beams at you. “Give me your number so I can text you the address!”

As you hand your phone to Hana, you wonder if this is a good idea. 

It’s true that you haven’t gone out in a while after many of your friends graduated or parted ways, so maybe one night out won’t hurt. Not to mention, it _does_ feel nice being invited to something.

The hard part is getting Iwaizumi to come.

* * *

“No,” Iwaizumi says simply, propping his phone up against his desk lamp to get a better view of you during the video call.

Your bottom lip pokes itself out on impulse, unsatisfied with his response.

“Why not?” you huff, turning up the brightness on your phone to see him more clearly on the screen. With the way you and Iwaizumi have gotten much more comfortable with each other over the last two weeks, you were certain he’d at least consider it.

Hell, he even somehow let you drag him out to get fast food after school simply because you were hungry a few days ago.

“It’s boring,” he replies, not even sparing you a glance as you see him turn his attention back to his laptop. “When did you and Hana become friends anyway? Do you even know anyone there?”

“We walk together after club meetings and she’s been pretty nice to me,” you answer, and Iwaizumi clicks his tongue. “And no, I don’t, which is why you should come with me.”

“Lame.”

“We can bring the fun then!” you propose cheekily. “C’mon, when was the last time you went out?”

“Not interested,” Iwaizumi says nonchalantly, shutting you down.

“Man…”

“Aren’t you the one who’s always falling asleep in class?” he asks, turning his attention towards you and propping his arm up on his desk. “So shouldn’t you stay home and get some sleep for once?”

He’s got a point.

Oikawa has taken you to two more of Iwaizumi’s matches since the first one, and, as exhilarating and unique the experience is, going to school the morning after is a painful endeavor.

“Mm… one night out on Saturday won’t hurt though, right?” you grin at him through the phone, and you see him lean back into his chair with his toned, muscular arms crossed over his chest. 

“Give it up, loser,” he says firmly. 

You puff your cheeks out at his response.

“Fine,” you sigh, admitting defeat as Iwaizumi gives you one last glance before returning to his task on the computer.

You don’t want to pressure him (not like you could force Iwaizumi to do anything he doesn’t want to do, anyway), and Iwaizumi just assumes that if he refuses to go, then you have no choice but to stay home as well.

After you say your goodbyes, you remember there’s one other person who’d probably be a lot more willing to accompany you than party-pooper Iwaizumi Hajime, one you’ve _also_ been talking to consistently. 

Well, even if Iwaizumi doesn’t want to go out with you, at least you two are comfortable calling each other now—that’s something you would never have even _dared_ to imagine a month ago.

“Oikawaaaa,” you say with a dramatic, theatrical frustration as the athlete picks up your video call.

“What’s up, cutie?” he grins at you. “Did you and Iwa-chan fight?”

“Stop that,” you frown at him. “Do you wanna go to a party with me on Saturday night?”

“Hm… what about—” Oikawa stops mid-sentence as he realizes why you’re calling him. “Iwa-chan said no, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs at the disappointment in your face and asks, “Why do you want to go so badly?”

“I mean, it’s not like I _have_ to go,” you reply, scratching your head. “But Hana went out of her way to invite me, and I also just haven’t been out in a pretty long time—I feel like it could be fun?”

“Hana invited you?” Oikawa repeats as you nod. “Hm.”

After some thought, he claps his hands together.

“Okay!” he beams at you. 

“Really?” you ask as your face lights up.

“Yeah,” Oikawa laughs. “I’ll pick you up around midnight then?”

“Sounds good,” you grin at him. “Thanks, you’re the best.”

“I know.”

After you end your call with Oikawa, you flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

Who needs Iwaizumi?

Sure, you actually, kind of, _maybe_ really wanted him to come with you, but at least Oikawa is there to keep you company.

It’s fine.

You don’t need Iwaizumi to have a fun time.

… Or so you thought, until the night of the party rolled around.

Things are going as you originally planned: you ate dinner, took a nap, picked an outfit and made yourself look cute—typical preparation stuff.

So why is it that once you swing open the door at the sound of three distinct knocks, Iwaizumi— _not_ Oikawa—is standing there, looking impatient and unacceptably attractive.

You take a sharp breath at the sight of him, doing your best to not eye him up and down _too_ obviously. 

The black jacket he’s slipped on over his white t-shirt isn’t too different from the one you see him usually wearing, but he looks _good_. Even when he’s got two hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, looking down at you and chewing his gum in annoyance, his stupid, sharp jawline outlined in the low lighting of your apartment complex’s hallway.

Damn him.

“Are you ready to go or what?” he grunts, though silently amused at how distressed you look over his appearance.

His eyes fall onto your hair, down to your face, down to your figure.

You look nice.

“Uh,” you blink, coming back to your senses. “What are you doing here? Where’s Oikawa?”

You look up to meet Iwaizumi’s gaze. You feel like you’re burning underneath it.

“He’s not coming.”

Damn him too. 

Damn both of them.

“Oh.”

It takes you a second to process Iwaizumi’s silence and you add, “Just let me get my bag real quick.”

He leans against the doorframe, taking in your small, modest living room as you retrieve your belongings.

You shoot Oikawa a quick text, heart still racing, as you grab your trusty crossbody and turn off the lights to your bedroom.

> [23:54] **You** : wow

He responds in an instant, and you have a sudden urge to hit him.

> [23:54] **Oikawa** : have fun :)

“Okay, I’m ready,” you announce, joining Iwaizumi at the door.

“I called us an Uber,” he says, checking his phone for the details. “I think it’ll be here in a minute.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t planning on drinking, so he _could’ve_ driven the motorcycle to pick you up, but decided against it, in case _you_ get drunk and can’t hold onto him properly on the way back.

He can’t have you falling off and dying on him—not on his watch.

— ✧ ✧ ✧ —

“Oh wow,” you comment, seeing the party house come into view through the car window. “That’s… a lot of people.”

“Hana’s got a big network,” Iwaizumi articulates, rolling his eyes in the dark.

The vehicle comes to a stop as you two get out, walking briskly through the cold, crisp air.

The neighborhood is relatively empty, with the three-story house being the sole source of the loud music and cheering ringing through the streets.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Iwaizumi scoffs, and you turn to look at what he’s talking about.

You realize that there are two lines of people in front of the large house entrance—seemingly divided by gender.

Your eyes catch sight of a sign propped up on the front lawn as you and Iwaizumi draw closer, reading in big, blocky writing, _BEFORE YOU ENTER: LADIES, TAKE SHOTS ON THE LEFT! DUDES, CHOOSE BETWEEN SHOTGUNNING A BEER OR DOING A HANDLEPULL._

“This is so fucking tacky,” Iwaizumi grates.

“Definitely my first time seeing it,” you laugh at how annoyed he looks. “I guess I’ll go stand on the left then, unless you wanna come, miss Iwaizumi?”

He glares at you before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and making his way to the line on the right, where approximately ten other guys are standing.

Some of them seem to notice Iwaizumi’s arrival but ignore him, while a couple greet him—almost with familiarity.

They’re too far for you to hear what they’re saying, but the puffs of their cigarette smoke and piercings make you wonder if Iwaizumi’s actually acquainted with them.

You walk up to the line of women on the left, where there are only a handful of them waiting to take their shots, since it’s much quicker than drinking an entire can of beer.

“TWENTY FOUR! TWENTY FIVE! TWENTY SIX!” you hear the group of rowdy men at the front of their line egging on the poor soul gulping down mouthfuls of hard vodka and cheering.

No wonder the men’s line is so long.

You wonder which option Iwaizumi will choose.

Suddenly, you also remember Hana telling you to let her know when you arrive, so you pull out your phone to send her a quick text as you move up the line.

> [00:28] **You** : i’m here!

> [00:29] **Hana** : omg yay! i’ll come downstairs :)

Just as you reach the front of your line, with Iwaizumi still five or six people behind in his, you see Hana push past a few people crowded at the door to greet you.

Smiling, you give her a little wave before she pulls you into a hug.

“You made it!” she bubbles, her body warm pressed against yours. 

“Yeah,” you grin. “You look hot.”

“So do you,” she chortles. “C’mon, let’s take some shots together!”

Not that Hana gives you a chance to say anything, before taking the shot cups of liquor from the girl assigned to welcome guests and handing them to you.

“Vodka,” Hana says, handing you one shot cup. “And brandy.” She hands you the other.

Isn’t the general rule of thumb to not… mix light and dark liquors?

“Have shot cups always been this big?” you laugh as you take them from her.

“We’re special,” she giggles. “You better finish every last drop!”

You sigh and eye the liquor threatening to spill out from the brim of the cup, but bring it to your lips once Hana pours some for herself as well.

“Cheers,” she grins at you, still looking prettier than ever, even with her hair a little frizzy.

You tilt your head back and pour the vodka into your mouth, closing your eyes at the burning in your throat when you swallow. Your nose scrunches up as you immediately gulp down the brandy after, wondering for a split second why you insist on putting poison in your body.

“Ugh,” you struggle with a look of disgust. No one likes the taste of gasoline.

“Let’s go inside,” Hana says, taking your hand.

“Oh, Iwaizumi’s still in line,” you remember, turning around to look for him.

Your eyes lock and you wave at him with a smile, but he has his eyes on Hana.

And he looks unamused, to say the least.

Hana seems to stop and think for a moment, but tinkers her fingers at him with a little flutter before leaning down to chuckle in your ear, “He can catch up to us later.”

You let her whisk you away in the brief moment of distraction at the burning in your stomach from the alcohol, and enter the house.

“Babe, why do you look so stressed out?” Hana laughs loudly over the booming of the music as you two navigate through the ocean of bodies. “Nervous?”

Jeez, how many people are here for such a big house to be packed like sardines? It almost feels like trying to leave your lecture hall on a Friday afternoon.

“You were right—I don’t know anyone,” you yell over the noise as you continue following behind her. “And I haven’t been to such a big party in a minute.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hana calls, pushing someone out of her way who’s too drunk to notice.

She leads you to the kitchen—which is much too grand and luxurious for people to be grinding on each other against the counters—and takes a brownie off one of the plates of snacks.

“Here, eat this,” she says, handing it to you before turning around to make you another drink. “Try to loosen up a little!”

You take a bite into the dessert and revel at the taste after the bitter alcohol you drank at the door—it feels _extra_ sweet.

“This is for you,” Hana announces after bustling around the kitchen for a bit, handing you a red solo cup of liquor. “My personal specialty drink—tastes delicious, but you’ll be fucked up in no time.”

“Thanks Hana,” you laugh, taking a sip.

It _is_ good, and the brownie has also disappeared with a few more bites.

“So,” she says excitedly after you finish chewing. “I have a secret to tell you.”

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow at her, taking another gulp of the mixed drink. “What is it?”

“One of my friends thinks you’re cute,” she admits, and you have to try _really_ hard not to choke on the alcohol.

“What?”

“He saw us leaving our club classroom together,” she says quickly, as if trying to make her case. “And I… _might’ve_ promised to introduce you two when he gets here tonight.”

This time you actually cough a little as the liquor goes down the wrong way.

“Uh, thanks, I’m flattered,” you say awkwardly, still caught off guard. “But I don’t really think I’d be interested—”

“He’s a total hottie,” Hana interrupts, then says apologetically, “And I already promised him beforehand… maybe you can just try talking to him? Once?”

You stop to consider her proposition.

Surely, there’s no harm in just chatting with him? Maybe drop a few hints that you’re still figuring out your own feelings with someone else…

“Okay,” you sigh, unable to resist Hana’s gorgeous, pleading eyes.

“Thanks,” she grins at you, taking a sip of your drink before handing it back to you. “I’ll let you know when he gets here, but, for now, let’s go back out! Hajime’s probably inside by now.”

You feel a heat travel up to your cheeks at Iwaizumi’s name, and follow Hana out of the kitchen.

Surely enough, you see the familiar, chiseled face once you set foot out of the kitchen and into one of the main gathering areas.

“Hey!” you giggle, unable to suppress the tiny laugh at the sight of him squeezing past so many people like he absolutely _hates_ his life—must be the alcohol. 

“So happy to see you here,” Hana purrs, batting her eyelashes at Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she tells you, “I’m gonna go greet some other people! So I’ll see you later.”

You nod as Hana disappears back into the crowd, and Iwaizumi’s gaze lingers on her for a second longer than necessary with the way she winks at you.

“Wanna dance?” you ask Iwaizumi as he turns his attention back to you.

Huh. This liquid courage is making things real easy for you.

“Not really,” Iwaizumi grumbles, clicking his tongue distastefully at the people who keep bumping into him.

“Who’s the lame one now,” you tease, flinching in surprise at the sudden sound of a loud cheering from the next room over.

You crane your neck to see what’s happening, and catch sight of the familiar view of rows of red solo cups lined up in a pyramid.

“What about beer pong?” you grin.

Iwaizumi stops to consider it for a moment, observing how enthusiastic and happy you look.

“Fine,” he sighs at your eagerness, and lets you take him by the arm to head towards the group of people excitedly.

Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s particularly good at dancing, but if there’s one party activity he’s good at, it’s beer pong.

The strangers almost seem to clear a path for you and Iwaizumi as he approaches the table, and the guys all roar in excitement at a new contender who looks _much_ too sober to _not_ be playing.

“Are you good at beer pong?” you ask from beside him as he takes a ping pong ball in his hand, rolling it around in his palm while deciding which cup to aim for.

“You’ll see,” he smirks.

With that, Iwaizumi tosses the ball into the fullest cup of beer with ease, prompting the men to hoot and whistle while his opponent drinks the alcohol in large gulps, beer dribbling down his chin.

“Show off,” you giggle, and Iwaizumi can’t hide the way his lips twitch upwards or the way his shoulders finally relax a bit.

But only a few minutes into the game, and you see Hana poke her head out from behind the group of people, beckoning you over.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to Iwaizumi with a pat against his arm.

“Where are you goi—”

But you’re gone before he can stop you.

Damn it, why do you always move so fast at the most inconvenient times?

Well, he can finish this game and then look for you.

“I’m here,” you pant to Hana, finally pushing past the people crowded around the beer pong table.

“Good, so is he,” she responds excitedly, pointing at a tall, handsome man with blonde hair standing a few feet away. “Come on.”

You feel unexpectedly nervous as Hana leads you towards the stranger, who’s currently making conversation with some of the other guys.

Someone who looks like _that_ thinks _you’re_ cute? No way.

Hana gives you one final, confident push in his direction, but the next few minutes feel like a blur.

It hits you all at once.

You remember introducing yourself to him, and he gives you his name, with a smile so charming it could probably melt you into a puddle. 

You’re pretty sure he gives you a hug, you think he makes some joke when you almost tumble over at his strong gesture, but you can’t quite hear over the loud music and the pounding in your head. Why is it so hard to keep your balance?

Iwaizumi takes a quick break from his game of beer pong to “grab some water,” only to see you over the moon and giggling happily to this stranger, and can’t help but narrow his eyes and scoff.

But Iwaizumi reminds himself that his job is just to make sure you’re safe, not gatekeep you from talking to other men.

The stupid beer pong dudes are already dragging him away again, so as long as he can keep an eye on you after getting them off his back, his duty is done.

But as soon as Iwaizumi slinks away in annoyance, your new friend seems to be taking you away too.

You hear him say, “Are you sure you’re okay?” and “Let’s get you somewhere quieter so you can sit down” before leading you up a flight of stairs, and you’re also _pretty_ sure you tell him that you’re fine.

But maybe you didn’t, since he’s still insisting on helping you out— _fuck_ , why is everything so hazy and loud? Are you dreaming?

The music suddenly grows much softer and, for a split second, you think you’re okay again; it’s enough time for you to realize you’ve somehow ended up in a dim bedroom, the door closed behind the guy Hana introduced you to.

What was his name again? 

This is so embarrassing. Is this real?

He’s looking at you with such soft eyes—no, hungry eyes? No, that can’t be right.

You should apologize. Tell him you’re fine, and that you’re here with a friend.

A friend.

Iwaizumi. Where’s Iwaizumi?

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi has realized after his quick game of beer pong that you’re suddenly nowhere to be found.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Where is she?”

“What’s wrong?” Hana’s voice says from beside his ear, causing him to whip around angrily.

“Where is she?” he growls, taking off his jacket at how hot it is in the house.

“Who?” Hana says innocently with a smile.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Hana,” Iwaizumi snarls, already pushing past her to look for you himself. 

“Is that why you never text me back?” she hums jokingly, but following behind him, suddenly just _slightly_ nervous.

Iwaizumi ignores her as he makes his way up to the second floor of the house, where it’s much quieter and where the single bedrooms are located.

You wonder if you actually heard Iwaizumi’s voice in the stairwell, or if you imagined it.

You probably imagined it. Your head hurts, so maybe that’s why it’s making things up too.

God, have you ever been such a lightweight? 

“Hey, hey, look at me,” you hear the stranger’s voice whisper as he puts a hand on your cheek.

Shit, you should really try to remember his name. Why is he so close? Didn’t you just meet like ten minutes ago? Fifteen?

“S-Sorry,” you manage to get out, until he leans in and presses his lips against yours.

Your heart drops, and you think you’re stone-cold sober for a split second—well, if your whole world wasn’t spinning in circles.

What. The. Fuck.

Did he just kiss you?

There’s no way.

Okay, now you _really_ need to tell him you’re not interested. Before he gets the wrong idea.

Are his hands on your shoulders?

No, one of them is on your back. 

No actually, they’re definitely both on your shoulders.

“W-Wait,” you mumble, trying furiously to form a coherent sentence.

But he shushes you, a sound you _barely_ hear with the blood pounding in your ears, and, before you know it, he’s pushing you onto the mattress.

“Wait,” you gasp again, flinching at how badly your head hurts.

Are you imagining this? Are you even actually speaking?

Is that why he’s not stopping?

You’re pretty sure you’re squirming underneath him, oh man, this is really uncomfortable.

Your heart is racing and you think you’re going to cry.

You need to get him off of you—but he’s so strong. He’s so, so strong. And tall.

“Please,” you squeak weakly, praying that he can hear you.

But you suddenly hear the door swing open so quickly that it slams against the wall, the hallway’s lights filtering into the room to cast a shadow of his muscular figure towering over you.

You’re not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore, but you’d recognize Iwaizumi’s voice anywhere—especially when he’s fucking _furious_.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing to her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! i hope you liked it :') comments are greatly appreciated ♡   
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active!


	7. solace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After things quickly go wrong at the party, Iwaizumi arrives just in time to keep you safe. You realize—and experience firsthand—just what kind of care and tenderness lies beneath his tough exterior.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Silence" by Before You Exit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i know there’s a lot of dialogue in this chapter but at least i didn’t pull a jane austen yet, lol. hope this chapter starts giving you some answers, and i mean, who doesn’t love a taste of soft iwa? ♡

* * *

“Get the fuck off of her,” Iwaizumi snarls, immediately pulling the man off you and pushing him violently to the ground.

He’s by your side in a matter of seconds.

“I-Iwaizumi?” you murmur in shock at the sound of his voice, vision still hazy in the dark room as you reach a hand out. The world around you continues to spin, despite your body resting on the mattress you were forced onto earlier.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he mutters, lowering himself to your level as he helps you sit back up. “Are you okay?”

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol in your system making your heart race and your cheeks warm, but Iwaizumi is so close to you that you can see clearly, for once.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, putting a hand on the top of your head, which travels down to your cheek as you blink at him blankly. Your eyes, still glassy from fear, make Iwaizumi’s blood boil.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe, and he unclenches his jaw, letting out the smallest sigh of relief.

“What the _fuck_ , Hana?” the other man grates from the corner of the room where Iwaizumi hurled him into, standing back up to glare at the girl watching distastefully from the doorway. “I thought you said she was down to fuck—”

He doesn’t finish before Iwaizumi grabs him by the collar and punches him square across the jaw, eliciting gasps from both you and Hana.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you,” Iwaizumi growls before turning back to you, pulling one of your arms around his shoulders to help you up.

“Can you walk?” he murmurs to you as you gradually stand on two wobbly feet. “Just lean on me.”

You nod in understanding, doing your best to stay balanced, though you’re not sure how long you’ll last before collapsing. Everything’s still whirling around, after all.

Iwaizumi holds you firmly with his strong arms, slowly leading you out of the room with the weight of your entire body against him.

As you two pass by Hana, who’s still leaning against the doorframe, you think you hear Iwaizumi mutter threateningly to her, “And the same goes for you.”

But you can’t be too sure, and you don’t see the way her eyes narrow as she watches you two leave.

Frankly, you’re not entirely certain how it’s even possible for you to descend an entire flight of stairs, squeeze your way past a crowd of people, and walk down a whole ass _street_ in your current state, but Iwaizumi somehow makes it happen.

The crisp air of the night feels cold against your cheeks as Iwaizumi fumbles with his phone, trying to call an Uber for you two without letting you topple over.

“I’m… tired…” you breathe through slurred words, knees bending against your will. 

Iwaizumi notices what you’re trying to do, and grumbles, “Don’t you _dare_ sit on the dirty pavem—damn it.”

He pinches the area between his brows in exasperation as he watches you sit on the curb, resting your chin in your hands with arms propped up on your knees, without a care in the world.

Sighing, Iwaizumi leaves you be while he successfully calls an Uber before sitting down beside you, the loud party music still blaring from the house behind you.

He watches you carefully, noticing the way your lips quiver slightly and your nose sniffles below your closed eyes.

Iwaizumi leans away from you for a second and begins to take his jacket off while you open your eyes, trying to protest.

“I’mmmm not coooold,” you garble, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. “It’s so hot…”

“The alcohol makes you feel hot,” Iwaizumi asserts, flicking your forehead as you furrow your brows and take your hand back. “But your body is actually cold.”

“Noooooo I’m hot,” you resist, refusing to wear the jacket that Iwaizumi attempts to wrap around you.

“Swear to god I’m gonna leave you here,” he snaps until you sit still, allowing him to finally cover the article of clothing over your shoulders, at the very least. “I’ll be damned if you get sick.”

“Hm… thanks Iwa,” you smile softly, scooting closer to him so your arm is pressed against his. 

Since when did you start calling him that?

He sighs again, but doesn’t complain.

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes until he nudges you, saying, “Our ride’s here.”

You struggle to stand and almost fall back onto your ass, but Iwaizumi manages to help you get into the backseat safely, one of his hands planted on the edge of the roof of the car so you don’t hit your head against it. 

“Thanks officerrrrr,” you joke, surprised that you’re conscious enough to have a sense of humor.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes before shutting the door and getting in from the other side.

He lets you lean against him while the car takes off—an exception he’ll make _once_ since you’re still so out of it, exceedingly aware of the way your head seems to fit perfectly into the curve of his neck. 

The street lamps outside race past you, shedding a flickering, yellowish light through the window, and Iwaizumi notices the way your hands—despite being clenched into small fists on your lap—continue to tremble lightly in the dark. 

He sighs and puts an arm over your head, draping it over and around your shoulders before pulling you closer to him. Just barely.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, and, after some thought, “I feel kinda sick though.”

“If you throw up on me inside this car, the driver and I are both gonna kill you.”

Several more minutes pass before you break the silence.

“Iwa,” you say quietly, eyes fixed on the air vent behind the driver’s armrest. “I’m… sorry.”

Iwaizumi glances down at the top of your head, still leaning against him, and blinks. “For what?”

“I don’t ever get this drunk after a few drinks,” you sniffle, clearly unhappy with yourself. “I’m not usually like this.”

Iwaizumi merely rolls his eyes at the fact that _this_ is what you’re upset about.

“Did you eat anything?” he asks.

“I did!” you emphasize. “I ate dinner before so I wouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach—so this wouldn’t happen…”

“I meant at the party,” Iwaizumi clarifies, tilting his head back. “Did you eat anything at the party?”

“Mm…” you wrack your brain to think back, though it does feel partially broken in the moment. “I think I ate a brownie? Hana gave it to me and told me to loosen up.”

Iwaizumi resists the urge to slap his hand over his forehead, and sighs.

“You’re not drunk, you idiot,” he says. “You’re crossed.”

“What?”

“That’s what happens when you eat random shit at a party full of people you don’t know,” he huffs, raising an eyebrow at you since you’ve snapped your head up to look at him. “She probably fed you a weed brownie.”

“I—” you begin, thoughts all jumbled in your head. “Well I’ve been to parties before and it’s not like anyone’s ever drugged me before today. She made me a drink too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, as if it all makes sense now. “Hana’s drinks are really strong too.”

“You’ve had ‘em before?” you ask, suddenly curious again about their history. 

“Sure,” Iwaizumi shrugs as the car approaches your apartment. “Come on, we’re here.”

After thanking the driver, he assists you out of the backseat, though it’s more like half-dragging you with how loopy you still are.

Iwaizumi does his best to ignore the pounding in his own head—he didn’t think he’d end up buzzed since he never intended on drinking at the party, but he _does_ have quite a bit of alcohol in his own system as well.

As you two make your way up to your front door, you fumble with the clasps on your trusty crossbody bag—which you surprisingly haven’t lost yet—and finally manage to find your keys, unlocking the door with them.

You don’t even bother turning on the light as Iwaizumi helps you hobble into your bedroom, making sure you're well-situated on your bed before letting go of your arm around him.

He plops himself down into your desk chair and exhales, closing his eyes; it’s been a _long_ night, and his body’s also been more sore than usual this week—not a good combination when he had to practically carry you home from a party after punching some dude that he’s _not_ getting paid to fight.

Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter open at the sound of a small thud, only to see you sprawled out on the floor, cheek pressed against the wood.

“What the fuck are you doing—” Iwaizumi mutters as he rushes to your side, trying to pull you back up.

“It’s hooooooot,” you complain, resisting his efforts. 

“It’s the middle of winter, you damn weirdo.”

“If I lay here… If I just laaayyyy here…”

His eyebrow twitches in irritation, before Iwaizumi finally gives up and sits on the floor as well, his spine pressed against your bed.

“I can’t stand you.”

You ignore him and roll over onto your back to stare at your ceiling, the silver moonlight filtering in through your windows.

“Thanks for saving me again, Iwa,” you murmur, closing your eyes briefly before reopening them. “And even though I would’ve loved to see it… maybe punching him wasn’t exactly the most legal thing to do.”

“I don’t do what’s legal,” Iwaizumi grumbles, looking away from you. “I just do what’s right—and gave that asshole what he deserved.”

You let out a tiny chuckle at his words; that’s true, Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t care about what’s legal or what’s not—he just does what’s right, because his heart’s always in the right place.

“What happened between you and Hana?” you breathe, finally throwing the question that’s been on your mind ever since you met her out into the open.

“N—”

“And don’t say nothing,” you cut him off, turning your head sideways to look at him in the low light. “Friends tell each other things, y’know.”

Wow. This whole “not sober” business is making you a lot bolder than you usually are, when it comes to Iwaizumi at least. 

He presses his lips together in contemplation, his heart slightly lodged in his throat at the way your face practically glows in the moonlight.

“Are you even gonna remember anything in the morning?” he sighs.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

After some thought, Iwaizumi opens his mouth to speak.

“Well I never lied about us being fuck buddies,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “But she ended up wanting more, and I didn’t—so I ghosted her.”

“Iwa, that’s terrible.”

“She’s been trying to get back together for a while now, but I just ignore her,” he continues, pretending not to hear you. “That’s why I didn’t wanna go to the party.”

“You could’ve just told me that,” you remark, massaging your temples in an attempt to relieve the pain in your head. “Did you ever feel anything for her?”

“Nah, not like that.”

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, your eyes tracing over the shadows on your ceiling created by the luminescent rays casting into your room.

“What now,” Iwaizumi grumbles at the sound of your small sigh.

“I guess I feel kinda bad for her,” you admit. “I’m sure getting ghosted feels really shitty.”

He looks at you with an expression stuck somewhere between exhaustion and disbelief, while you simply continue to stare upwards, not at anything in particular.

“She fed you a weed brownie, and is literally part of the reason I had to pull some six-foot scumbag off of you,” Iwaizumi states, waving his hand around. “Where the hell do you get the energy to still feel bad for her?”

“Maybe she didn’t think things would escalate like that,” you murmur, swiping a finger under your nose before it starts to run. You’re unsure if you’re trying to convince Iwaizumi, or convince yourself.

He continues watching you, his expression unreadable; he can’t tell if you’re dumb, nice, or both—either way, it’s too much for your own good.

“It just sucks because…” you begin, inhaling sharply. “I dunno, she was cool and she was really nice to me. I kinda liked her—and I thought she liked me too.”

You don’t catch the way Iwaizumi’s face softens at your words, too preoccupied with not letting your disappointment show in your voice.

“Yeah, well, she’s good at faking it and making you feel that way,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s her job.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you turn your head to look at him, your cheek pressed lightly against the wooden floorboards once again. 

Iwaizumi hesitates, wondering if he should elaborate; he and Hana had once agreed to respect each other’s privacy, but that respect flew out the window when she decided to put her hands on you.

“She’s a dancer and a hostess,” Iwaizumi reveals. “It’s how we met—at the nightclub where she works.”

“Ohh,” you reply. “I was wondering why the whole university hasn’t found out about your underground fight ring yet.”

“Yeah, her work isn’t exactly legal either,” he shrugs. “So I guess that’s why we were drawn to each other at first—we’re not too different in that sense.”

You nod in understanding.

Frankly, it suits her. Hana’s attractive, charming, and effortlessly likable, after all.

You could never _fully_ fathom that kind of lifestyle, probably.

“Say, Iwa,” you murmur. “How long are you gonna keep fighting?”

Iwaizumi looks down at you, and you meet his gaze.

“I dunno,” he answers nonchalantly. “Haven’t thought too much about it.”

“I mean, if you could do anything you wanted, it wouldn’t be underground fighting for the rest of your life, would it?”

Iwaizumi smiles softly and turns his head to the side, looking at the bright, full moon outside your window. 

“No, no it wouldn’t.”

“Then what is it?” You can feel yourself starting to sober up now, but something about the air at 3:13am makes it still feel a bit easier to talk to him.

He draws a long breath before answering, finding his situation rather amusing—he can’t believe you’re going to drag him into having a deep talk about life in the middle of the night, on your bedroom floor.

“There’s this Japanese volleyball trainer who I’ve always looked up to,” Iwaizumi says, noticing the way your eyes light up at this new information. “I think it’d be really incredible to intern with him, and maybe do something similar.”

“That’s so cool!” you exclaim, sitting up excitedly—perhaps a little _too_ quickly, with the way your head instantly starts pulsating with pain.

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing,” Iwaizumi chuckles at the clumsy way you immediately keel over. “If I ever make it that far, at least.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. “You’re a sports science major, you’re fit, and your grades are pretty good, right?”

“I dunno,” he breathes, leaning back against your bed. “Maybe I’m just not meant to go that far in life. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing right now, I mean, look at me.”

“Not with that attitude,” you frown. “What are you saying?”

“Y’know, I actually really wanted to go to university in California, since that’s where Coach Utsui is,” Iwaizumi says. 

“No way,” you gasp, now fully invested in Iwaizumi’s history. Who knows when the next time he’ll open up to you like this is? “Why didn’t you?”

“My mom got pretty sick and my dad was struggling to pay for her medical bills and everything on his own.”

“Oh.” Your heart drops at the realization as the pieces gradually fall into place: his trips to the pharmacy, and his persistence in fighting to get paid, even at the expense of his own wellbeing. “I’m sorry.”

Iwaizumi takes one of the stuffed animals sitting by your bedside table and chucks it at your head.

“I’m not someone you need to pity, you know,” he sighs. “It’s fine—it was my own decision to go to university near home, and I see them often enough.”

“That’s good,” you nod, unable to hide the small tug at your heartstrings out of sympathy for him, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What about you?” Iwaizumi asks, changing the subject. “What do you wanna do?”

“Mm… something meaningful,” you say after a moment’s ponder. “I think, no matter what I do, I’d want to make some sort of positive impact on the world.”

“Hmm.”

“And most of all, I want to be happy,” you grin. 

Iwaizumi thinks his heart skips a beat at the sight of you smiling at him, almost as if you can see right through him.

“Y’know, Iwa,” you murmur, slowly laying back down on the floor. “I think it’s fine if we don’t have everything figured out just yet. I know we’re in our last year of university, but we’re still so, so young.”

Your voice trails off as you gently close your eyes, suddenly feeling a strong, irresistible wave of fatigue and exhaustion wash over you.

“Our dreams, the future, it all feels so far away,” you mumble quietly. “I wonder if we’ll be okay? I’m sure we will…”

“You better not fall asleep on the fucking floor,” Iwaizumi groans, getting up to drag you off the cold, hard wood.

“I’m pretty tired, not gonna lie,” you peer at him through a cracked eyelid, and yawn. “All of a sudden too… I just wanna sleep…”

“Then at least sleep on the damn bed,” he sighs, helping you lay down on the mattress as you comply. You don’t think your bed has ever felt this soft, warm, and comforting.

“I’m gonna get you some water, so just stay awake for like, two more minutes,” Iwaizumi orders, peeling your hands off his arms. “You’re gonna feel like shit when you wake up if you don’t drink something.”

“Okaaaayyyy,” you shoo him away and close your eyes once more, tempted to just drift off while he’s gone. 

Right as the darkness of sleep is about to engulf you, you hear his irritated voice scold you from the doorway, “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m awake, I’m awake,” you assure him, eyes shooting open.

“Then drink this.”

He hands you one of your mugs from the kitchen, and you force your lips open to gulp down the cool liquid, though you still feel so sick you _really_ don’t want to put anything else into your body.

It’s difficult at first, but the water feels good. And hydrating.

“Done,” you announce with what little energy you have left, pushing the cup back into Iwaizumi’s hand and collapsing onto the bouncy mattress. “I’m gonna pass out now.”

He merely shakes his head and places the mug down on your desk, when you flip onto your side to look at him.

“Will you stay?” you ask quietly, tiredly glancing at him through your eyelashes. “I don’t… really wanna be alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” he replies, sitting down in your desk chair and resting his head against his hand. “Don’t want you throwing up or choking and dying in your sleep.”

“Thanks,” you laugh. “You should just come sleep on my bed if you want, you’ve been saying your body was extra sore all week. We can share.”

For the first time ever, you think you see Iwaizumi stiffen… _awkwardly_ , almost.

“What, you afraid of sleeping next to a cute girl for the whole night?” you tease, and steam almost shoots out of Iwaizumi’s ears. “I promise I won’t grope you.”

“You never know how to shut up, do you,” he mutters, but you’re already closing your eyes.

“Just come,” you yawn again, snuggling into your pillow. “Extra blankets are in my dresser if you get cold. G’night, Iwa.”

And with that, you’re out cold. Unconscious, pretty much.

Iwaizumi’s certain of that, with your lack of response to his three strong pokes against your shoulder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he sighs, making his way over to retrieve two extra blankets.

He tosses one over your body, and takes his jacket off before hesitantly laying down beside you and covering himself with the other one.

God, his back is killing him, you were right about that much.

He rests his head against his arm, and watches you as your shoulders slowly rise and fall with every breath you take.

Yeah, this is definitely at least a _little_ creepy. It’s weird how much you trust him.

And yet, he still can’t seem to tear his eyes off of you; you look so soft, so at _peace_ , even when you’ve got a frizzy chunk of hair stuck in the corner of your mouth.

Iwaizumi hesitates, then gingerly reaches a bruised, calloused hand out, carefully moving the hair out of your delicate face.

You really are just so different from him.

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds loudly against his chest as he thinks about what tomorrow will hold; there’s no denying the sense of guilt he feels festering inside him, for dragging you into his and Hana’s situation without you even knowing.

He wonders if you’ll blame him the day after, when you’re sober and thinking straight again.

Maybe you were right, if he’d just been honest and open with you from the beginning, this wouldn’t have happened. Who knows how things would’ve escalated if he didn’t get to you in time?

Iwaizumi’s hands ball themselves into fists at the thought, but unclench once he hears you let out a tiny, soft snore.

He can’t help the way his lips twitch upwards into a smile at how tired you look—you would definitely kill him if he told you that he heard you snore in your sleep, maybe even saw you drool.

Well, Iwaizumi figures he can leave his worries for tomorrow; is it wrong to want to spend one night by your side without thinking about whether he should, or shouldn’t? Watching you with a tenderness he didn’t even know existed in him?

For some strange reason he could never quite figure out, you bring him a sense of peace, and _solace_ , that he hasn’t felt in so long, it’s almost been forgotten completely.

Is it really so selfish to want to experience just another moment of that, even if it may not last?

For now, Iwaizumi will take what he can get—and seeing how you’re fast asleep beside him, the moonlight casting a subtle glow onto your cheeks, he’d say that maybe life isn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active!  
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter, comments are always appreciated ♡


	8. possibility.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up in Iwaizumi’s arms the morning after, and a new worry poses a possible problem to the relationship between you and him.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Dangerous" by Meek Mill ft. Jeremih & PnB Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i’m sorry the ending was a bit rushed for this chapter :( but i hope you all still like it! and shoutout to my anon who gave me the idea for this opening scene lol

* * *

You dread cracking open your eyes at the rays of sunlight which strive to disrupt your sleep; you feel exhausted, and the comfort of your bed has never felt more like home, like an intimate hug. You’ve never felt safer, like being held in the snug embrace of someone’s strong arms, someone who smells a lot like… Iwaizumi.

Now that you think about it—as far as thinking goes in your half-unconscious state—the pillow that your cheek is so comfortably pressed against is much warmer than usual. And do you feel? Movement? And a heartbeat?

Realization and consciousness hit you at the same time as your eyes shoot open, not unlike the way you’d imagine Frankenstein’s did when he first came to life.

It takes you a second longer to process that your face is rested against Iwaizumi’s chest, his steady breathing causing it to slowly move up and down, your entire head gently moving with it in synchroneity. Reality sinks in as you notice the way you’re curled up against Iwaizumi’s torso, his arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders underneath your shared blanket—you crane your neck and, to your dismay, find that the blanket meant for _you_ has been abandoned to your side of the floor.

In other words, _you’ve_ hijacked _his_ blanket, and taken up _his_ space on the bed. (Well, to be fair, it is your bed. You should be allowed to do whatever you want.)

Iwaizumi stirs in his sleep at your small but noticeable movements, and you’re finally about seventy-five percent awake when your body darts upright at the sight of his eyelids slowly opening. You immediately regret the action as your head pounds with pain, causing you to bend over, hands still clutching your chunk of the blanket.

“You good?” Iwaizumi’s deep, raspy morning voice asks, to which you stiffen and shuffle another few centimeters away from him—as much as your single mattress can allow, at least.

You take the blanket and instinctively cross your arms over your chest, recoiling like a seahorse and peering up at him.

“Did… did anything happen last night?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it; well, your head is about as good as empty anyway, so you’re not sure _anything_ would’ve stopped it.

“ _Huh_?” Iwaizumi squints at you incredulously, still trying to shake off his morning grogginess until he realizes, _oh_ , you’re being serious. 

“Yeah, we fucked,” Iwaizumi shrugs, propping himself up on his arm to look at you as your eyes widen and your heart drops. “And then I put all of my clothes back on and all of your clothes back on without waking you up, including those tight ass pants of yours—no, you moron, nothing happened last night.”

He doesn’t finish rolling his eyes at you when you toss another one of your stuffed animals in his face with a small “fuck off,” to which he just chuckles.

“If anything, you’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands off me,” Iwaizumi yawns, and you swear you feel your lifespan shorten. 

“What?” you sputter awkwardly, cheeks already warming with humiliation.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t grope me,” he sighs, though clearly amused at how embarrassed you look once the memories slowly start returning. “But you spent the night trying to crawl under my blanket because you tossed yours, and wouldn’t stop until you were practically latched onto my body—I barely got any rest because of you.”

Ok, that’s it.

_Now_ you’re burning with shame and regret as you mumble, “Sorry.”

“Not to mention I had to pretty much _carry_ you home last night because you were so fucked up,” Iwaizumi muses, clicking his tongue as you cringe at the memory. Ah yes, everything is coming back now. “And I’ve already been so damn sore all week, too.”

“‘M sorry,” you grumble again under your breath, with eyes fixed on the fists in your lap to avoid his gaze, but you don’t see him begin to move towards you.

“And I think I even punched some asshole who might wanna press charges against me just to save you,” Iwaizumi breathes, a few inches away from your face as the mattress dips before you from his body weight. You look up to meet his eyes, and your heart launches itself into your throat. “All because _someone_ wanted to go to a stupid party I tried to stop her from going to.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeak one last time, on the brink of passing out with Iwaizumi’s face so close to yours as he corners you, one hand placed on either side of your body. You kind of want to smack him, since you know he revels in messing with you, and that he’s really just a smug bastard underneath that tough exterior of his. “I’ll make it up to you, I’ll pay you back if that’s what you _really_ want.”

_Yeah, if that’s what you really want, you damn bully_ , you think, biting your lip and averting your gaze.

He wouldn’t stoop so low as to pull a loan-shark move on you, would he? After all, isn’t he the one who said he doesn’t care about what’s legal? Just what’s right?

“And how are you gonna pay me?” Iwaizumi exhales gravely, leaning in and planting a hand against the headboard, his arm beside your head. He feels like he’s in a particularly _good_ mood today, not that he’ll show it. “With your body?”

You’re afraid this asshole can practically _see_ the heat emanating off your body in embarrassment, and you feel so vulnerable under his gaze, which is fixed on you intently.

It’s too early for this, and you _know_ he just wants to make you suffer.

“Well, I don’t think this body would be worth very much,” you say awkwardly, clearing your throat as you shake a knotted chunk of hair out of your face, the flyaways slapping against Iwaizumi’s nose. “I haven’t showered and my makeup is all crusty, I’d say it’s worth a few bucks, maybe.”

Iwaizumi finally cracks as the corners of his lips twitch upwards into a smile, before he chuckles and drops his head into the crevice of your shoulder.

“You’re so lame.”

He rolls off of you and lays back down on your bed, leaving you to let out the breath you were holding, blinking in disbelief as you lean against the wall.

“And I don’t think that scumbag would press charges for getting socked,” Iwaizumi yawns, stretching his arms out. Is he always this much more lax in the morning? “Pretty sure the charges you could press for attempted assault outweigh that.”

“All you do is mess with me,” you huff, taking a small pillow and smacking him in the face with a _bit_ more force than you’d intended, eliciting a small _oof!_ from him.

You attempt to bolt off the bed in order to avoid Iwaizumi’s imminent wrath, but his reflexes are much quicker. Your butt doesn’t even make it an inch off the mattress before he grabs your wrist, pulling you forcefully back down towards him.

A few more meager efforts to escape his strong hold are made, but you know better than anyone that those muscles of his are more than just for show.

In other words, Iwaizumi now has you, once again, pinned and squirming beneath him without even having to break a sweat.

He’s smirking down at you, looking annoyingly attractive for someone who just woke up, and opens his mouth to say something when you suddenly hear,

“Oh my, what do we have here?”

Iwaizumi’s face pales and your eyes widen as he lets you go, both of you jolting up and away from each other.

“What the fuck are you doing here, asshole?” Iwazumi glares at the intruder, none other than Oikawa, standing at your door.

“I kept texting and knocking but no one was answering,” Oikawa answers as he peers at you over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “The door was unlocked so I came to check things out in case something was wrong—”

“You didn’t lock the door last night?” you squawk at Iwaizumi.

“I was too busy carrying your ass so you wouldn’t pass out on the floor,” he snaps at you. “And you weren’t the only one who drank, y’know.”

“Who _knows_ what you two would’ve done if you had the privacy of locked doors,” Oikawa asks (but not really) with a questioning, teasing smile as Iwaizumi shoots him a deathly glare, while you contemplate digging a hole in your bedroom floor and crawling into it. “Do you want me to leave?”

“N-No!” you slide off the bed, and beckon for Oikawa to sit wherever he wants. 

Realizing that Iwaizumi is still sitting on your mattress, bewildered at the fact that Oikawa showing up to your house uninvited on Sunday morning seems like a natural occurrence, you turn to him and explain, “Oikawa and I get food together on Sundays, since he’s always paying for both of us when we go watch your matches.”

“It’s nice being with someone who always lets me choose the restaurant and pays,” Oikawa grins as Iwaizumi shoots him an irritated glance. “You’re not the only one who spends time with her, y’know.”

“Shut the fuck up—”

“I’m gonna go shower,” you say quickly, removing yourself from the situation before one of them commits murder. “Iwa, you can shower after too, if you want. Or not. I dunno, up to you. Yeah.”

You shuffle awkwardly to retrieve a change of clothes before making your way into your bathroom, leaving Iwaizumi and Oikawa to their own devices.

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi sighs irritatedly.

“I didn’t say anything,” Oikawa hums, clearly enjoying himself as he swivels around in your chair. “How was last night?”

“Don’t even get me started.”

Oikawa merely chuckles to himself as Iwaizumi slides off your bed, stretching out his arms and picking up his jacket from the floor.

After a few moments of silence and loosening up his limbs, Iwaizumi says sternly, “Oikawa.”

His best friend raises an eyebrow at the sudden seriousness.

“I don’t want you taking her to my matches anymore,” Iwaizumi announces, putting on his jacket.

“What? Why not?” Oikawa is taken aback. “You don’t like her company?”

“It’s not that, it’s just—” Iwaizumi mutters. “There’s no need. It just makes her tired during school, and…”

Oikawa crosses his arms at Iwaizumi’s pause. “And?”

“I’m not guaranteed to win every match, you know that,” Iwaizumi says simply, looking up to meet Oikawa’s eye. “I don’t want her to be there if things ever get ugly.”

“Ahh.”

So that’s what Iwaizumi’s concerned about.

Oikawa taps his chin thoughtfully, then grins, “No.”

Iwaizumi’s messy hair shoots up even spikier than it usually is, if that’s possible at all. “Huh?”

“She likes going to support you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa shrugs. “Who am I to stop her?”

“Come up with a lie,” Iwaizumi grunts, tilting his head to the right and cracking it. “Simple.”

“Mm, don’t think that’s a good idea,” Oikawa says. “We’re friends now, y’know. And she’s not dumb—she could probably see right through me, and you’re not hard to read.”

Iwaizumi feels like Oikawa is _really_ testing his patience today.

“Don’t be so quick to push her away,” Oikawa chides rather lightheartedly, but with an obvious weight to his words. “I think she’s good for you.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond as he takes his phone and puts it into his pocket, turning around to leave.

“I’m gonna go home,” he mutters, leaving Oikawa behind without a chance to protest as he shuts the door behind him.

Oikawa clamps his mouth shut and sighs, shaking his head at Iwaizumi’s stubborn nature.

This is going to be difficult.

“Where’s Iwa?” you ask, appearing outside the bathroom, fresh out of your shower and—thankfully—in a change of clothes.

Oikawa turns around and puts his cheerful expression back on, answering, “He went home! Probably to sleep some more, if we’re being honest.”

“Without saying bye?” you mumble, putting your dirty laundry in the hamper. “Rude.”

You can’t deny the slight feeling of disappointment in your chest.

“It’s okay, you still have me,” Oikawa chirps. “Hungry?”

You smile and nod, unable to resist his contagious energy.

“Alright, then let’s get some _food_.”

* * *

“So how was your date last night?” Oikawa asks after giving the waiter his udon order.

“Not a date,” you correct him, handing both of your menus to the employee before he turns to leave. “Until you made it one.”

“So still a date.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Oikawa laughs at your response as you catch him up on yesterday’s events, from the exciting, to the unexpected, to the ugly.

His eyes darken at the incident with Hana, and you see Oikawa Tooru—always charming and cheerful—really scowl for the first time. It almost sends shivers down your spine.

“I knew she was trying to get back with Iwa-chan, but I didn’t think she’d go that far,” he murmurs, an almost threatening aura seeping from his skin, which softens once he looks at you. “Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer, fidgeting in your seat. “Maybe it was just a coincidence, or Hana didn’t think things would escalate that way.”

Oikawa gives you a look that quite resembles Iwaizumi’s expression when you said something similar last night—it’s no wonder they’re best friends.

“I’ll just give her the benefit of the doubt for now—she’s not responsible for someone else’s actions,” you exhale, not wanting to remember that portion of the night in too much detail. “But thinking about it makes me kind of anxious, still.”

“Sorry,” Oikawa apologizes, and you wave your hands at his unnecessary apology.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say with a tired smile. “How do you and Hana know each other? I don’t think you ever told me.”

“We met when she and Iwa-chan were having their fling,” Oikawa discloses, eyeing you carefully to make sure you really are okay. “She was nice to me but we weren’t close—well-acquainted but not friends, I suppose.”

“Ohh,” you nod your head, spirits visibly lifting at the sight of your food approaching. “Was there any particular reason? Did you not like her?”

“Mm, I can’t really put my finger on it,” Oikawa says after some thought, thanking the waiter for your two bowls of udon. “But I guess one thing that bugged me was how Iwa-chan told Hana very clearly he didn’t want any strings attached, and yet, somehow it seemed like the whole university thought they were an item within just a week.”

“Hm.”

Oikawa notices the way your eyes lower as you gently stir your noodles around, seemingly distracted, and decides to change the subject.

“Has Iwa-chan told you to stop coming to his matches?” he asks, after swallowing a bite of his food.

“He’s mentioned it a few times, especially when he catches me falling asleep in class or at work,” you say sheepishly. “But he can’t tell me what to do just because he’s big and scary-looking and can probably bench my whole body weight.”

Oikawa chuckles, slightly relieved that you still have the spirit to humor him.

“I don’t know why he keeps bringing it up,” you continue, rolling your eyes. “He’s stubborn, but so am I.”

This time, Oikawa actually laughs, “Oh dear.”

After some thought, he says, “Maybe he’s afraid you’ll see him lose one of these days—you know how much Iwa-chan loves to win.”

“I don’t care if he wins or loses,” you shrug. “You saw how happy he looked when he noticed us at his match that first time, the guy was practically glowing.”

“That’s true,” Oikawa muses.

“I just,” you begin, hesitating. “I just think it’s nice to be there and support him. And I think he appreciates it too, even if he won’t admit it.”

Oikawa says nothing, but smiles at you before taking another bite of his food.

“And I mean, what’s the big deal even if he _does_ lose?” you continue, almost starting to ramble, perhaps out of a mild irritation. “Does his number go down or something?”

“What number?” Oikawa asks. “Oh, you mean his fighter number?”

You nod, taking a sip of your broth.

“No, that doesn’t go down,” he chortles, eyes sparkling. Oikawa never gets tired of how endearing you are, frankly. “The fighters all choose their own number to go by as a means to protect their identity, but it doesn’t have anything to do with their ranking.”

“Oh.”

You scratch your head awkwardly at the _completely_ wrong conclusion you’ve arrived at, to Oikawa’s amusement.

“Iwa-chan was number four on our volleyball team in high school,” he tells you. “At least I think that’s why he chose four.”

“Oh wow,” you respond, clearly surprised. “That’s kind of… sweet.”

“Iwa-chan can be a sweet guy,” Oikawa smiles. “He just doesn’t show it often.”

“I’m sure he is,” you say sarcastically, knowing the gruff but caring Iwaizumi all too well at this point. “But just because he’s sweet doesn’t mean he gets to decide what I do with my life or my time.”

“Mm, true.”

* * *

But almost fifteen hours later, for the first time, you truly understand what Oikawa meant by Iwaizumi not wanting you to see him if he should lose a fight.

Statistically speaking, you don’t doubt that Iwaizumi is reasonable in believing he wouldn’t be able to win every single match he’s in—you get that.

But holy _fuck_ , watching him fight a losing match is stressful. And terrifying. And _painful_.

You could never have imagined strong, unwavering Iwaizumi taking punches to the stomach and being flung around the ring like a rag doll, even if you tried.

And yet here he is, bruised and bleeding, his muscular back pressed against the metal barricade a few meters away from where you and Oikawa stand.

Even Oikawa seems concerned, his eyes fixed on the fight while your hand is clasped over your mouth to hide your gasps of fear.

You clutch Oikawa’s shirt so tightly with your other hand you think your nails might tear through the fabric, and your heart almost stops when Iwaizumi looks directly at you as he leans against the steel rack to catch his breath.

Time feels like it moves in slow motion; he’s panting, counting the seconds before his opponent strikes again, face glistening and bottom lip slightly torn.

Iwaizumi has never been the expressive person, especially with you.

But if a single look could be translated into words, in the way his eyes are locked with yours, you’re almost certain of what they’re telling you.

_“Look away.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed!  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active :)  
> comments are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading ♡


	9. care.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re badly shaken up after Iwaizumi’s fight, and things feel uncomfortably tense between you two. You just want to help, but whether or not he’ll let you is another question.
> 
> Soundtrack: "thinking 2 much" by Jeremy Zucker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to @oikawaisamood for your ko-fi donation, it really helped push me through the last bit of this chapter :( i hope this chapter lived up to all of your expectations; it felt a bit underwhelming to write even though i've had it in my head for months, but i still hope you like it OTL

* * *

Your stomach feels nauseous as you see Iwaizumi’s opponent eye him carefully, not too different from the way a predator would watch its prey before attacking during a bloodthirsty hunt. Your eyes flit back to Iwaizumi, the dim lighting of the basement-arena casting dark shadows over his face as he gives you one last warning look, before his opponent lunges at him again.

The crowd hoots in anticipation, and you wonder how no one seems to pay any regard for the fighters’ wellbeing; are they just machines to them? 

Time seems to freeze as Iwaizumi’s attacker practically flies towards him at full speed, the moments pausing like snapshots from a camera before your eyes.

_“Look away.”_

You want to look.

You don’t want to look.

You need to know what happens.

But you don’t want to see him get hurt.

Your heart is racing so fast you think it might shoot out of your body as it continues to sink with fear. Forcing yourself to quickly tear your eyes off the fight before it’s too late, you whip your head around and bury it into Oikawa’s shirt, your grip on his clothing tighter than the anxiety in your chest.

He wraps a reassuring arm around your trembling shoulder to hold you close, though his eyes are still paying close attention to his best friend in the ring.

You hear a loud grunt and a thud as your stomach twists itself into a knot—that was definitely the sound of a body hitting the cold, hard ground.

“Shit,” Oikawa curses through gritted teeth as the crowd goes absolutely _wild_ , and you can’t help but pull away from the safety of his body to look, ignoring the nagging fear at the back of your mind.

“What happened—ow!” You feel a sharp pain against your cheek as the woman standing beside you throws her arms up to cheer, scratching you with perhaps a ring or bracelet of hers.

“Fuck, sorry about that,” she apologizes as you wave her off, much too distracted to care.

Cupping your face with your hand, you look back up at Oikawa and ask loudly, “What happened?”

“I think Iwa-chan broke his jaw.”

You think you’re going to be sick at Oikawa’s words, dreading the sight of Iwaizumi once you bring yourself to look at him again—but what you see takes you by surprise.

Instead of Iwaizumi, his _opponent_ is writhing on the ground, unable to stand back up as the announcer grabs Iwaizumi’s wrist, lifting it and declaring his victory.

It takes you a second to process exactly what’s happening but once you do, you’re too relieved that Iwaizumi is okay to yell at Oikawa for not being clearer, as the tired fighter makes his way to your side of the ring. Despite being the winner, you can tell it was a close fight through the bruising on Iwaizumi’s torso, the blood trickling down his lip, and the way he doesn’t even have the energy to entertain the roaring crowd like he usually does.

He finally reaches you and Oikawa as the two men share a small fist bump, Iwaizumi’s arm dropping in exhaustion instantly after. He looks down at you and you two make eye contact, but his expression is unreadable.

You feel a slight ache in your chest seeing his injuries up close, but once he lowers himself to meet your level, all your inhibitions fly out the window as you immediately fling your arms around him without hesitation. Iwaizumi’s face softens at the contact against his bare skin, and slowly lets his chin rest gently against your shoulder in response to how tightly you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck.

Oikawa merely watches as Iwaizumi puts a hand on your back, giving it a small, tired pat. You choose to ignore the people helping Iwaizumi’s opponent off the floor, ushering him out of the fighting ring to get him to a hospital.

* * *

The journey home was a quiet one, and filled with an uncomfortable amount of unspoken tension.

Oikawa had called a cab for you and Iwaizumi to take home, and promised to reconvene at your apartment after he took care of Iwaizumi’s motorcycle so that it wouldn’t be left there unattended all night. 

Things were fine when you and Oikawa helped Iwaizumi hobble into the car, each of his arms slung over either of your shoulders, but things seemed to grow indescribably cold between you two once you joined him in the backseat. You weren’t sure exactly how Iwaizumi was feeling, so you merely settled for telling him that he could lean against you during the ride if he wanted, but he simply ignored you and did not, in fact, lean on you.

All he did was stare out the window, head completely turned away.

And helping Iwaizumi out of the vehicle upon arriving at your apartment wasn’t much better, either. You offered to hold him steady, to which he refused, until he almost stumbled over—clearly in excruciating pain—and you had to _force_ him to let you support him with your own body weight.

Now that you’ve finally gotten him on your bed, you can only pray that he’ll cooperate once you retrieve some ice and your first aid kit.

“I’ll be right back,” you mutter, taking your jacket off after working up quite a sweat in the process of dragging Iwaizumi into your house as best as you can. 

Once you step out of the bedroom, Iwaizumi exhales and slowly lays down on your mattress, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth together tightly at the sheer physical suffering his body is in. His hands ball into fists as his frustration grows and grows; he’s upset enough that he barely won his match by a hair, but even more so knowing you had to see that.

What did he say? He _told_ you so.

He _told_ you to stop coming.

So who’s to blame now that you had to see him barely scrape by losing? Frankly, Iwaizumi’s lucky he didn’t leave the arena with a couple broken ribs. You’re just not cut out for this type of lifestyle, for _his_ lifestyle. He _warned_ you.

He knew that from the start.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even know who or what he’s so pissed off at, but he’s in a fouler mood than ever.

He opens his eyes at the sound of you re-entering the room, a plastic box and a few ice packs in hand.

“Can you take your shirt off?” you mumble, already dreading the sight of how bad his injuries have gotten in the past hour. The bruising is sure to be darker, and there might even be some swelling, if it’s bad.

You don’t even have the heart to get embarrassed or flustered like you usually would as Iwaizumi gradually sits up, crosses his arms at the bottom hem of his shirt, then changes his mind and pulls it up and over his head with one hand holding the back of his neckline instead. 

“Do you need help?” you ask, making your way over to him.

“No,” he answers simply. Almost coldly.

The fabric slides off his torso haltingly before he tosses it onto the floor, and your breath hitches at the dark splotches scattered over his skin.

A shiver runs through your body as you sit down on the edge of your bed, placing the first aid kit down on your nightstand.

“Why don’t you lay down on your stomach?” you murmur, wrapping the ice pack in your hand with a paper towel so it won’t be too harsh against his skin. “I’ll ice the swelling, and then we can take care of the smaller cuts—”

“I can do it myself,” Iwaizumi cuts you off, stretching an arm out to take the ice pack from you.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it,” you say firmly, moving it out of his reach and frowning at his difficult behavior. “Just take it easy.”

“I said I _got_ it,” he hisses hostilely as he leans forward, but winces in pain with a noticeable grunt at the effort. “What part do you not understand—”

“Just let me fucking help you!” you snap, raising your voice suddenly and taking both of you by surprise. “Fuck.”

You swallow thickly, clearly unsettled.

The way your tone wavers at the end causes Iwaizumi to recoil as he glances up at you, his gaze really meeting yours for the first time since the fight. He takes a sharp inhale at the sight of your eyes turning slightly glassy and he thinks his heart is going to stop beating.

_Fuck_.

Iwaizumi sighs and complies, immediately calming down—he doesn’t think he’s seen you this serious with him before, or ever really border so closely on anger, even.

He finally sinks back down onto the mattress, the soft blankets pressing against his bare chest and stomach. He crosses his muscular arms and rests his chin on top of his hands as you open the first aid kit.

“If you really wanna help, you can tell me which of these bandages and patches to use for what injury later,” you huff. “But other than that, you’re in no condition to help yourself. So don’t be fucking difficult.”

Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow at your attitude but doesn’t say anything, since you’d usually never speak to him like that—you must be _really_ upset.

And honestly, you’re not even sure why you’re acting the way you are.

Yes, you’re mad and annoyed that even at a time like this, Iwaizumi wants to act tough and refuse your help. But there’s also something else. Something more.

The next few minutes are painfully quiet as you put ice packs on the areas of Iwaizumi’s back that seem to be swelling, and clean the smaller cuts on his skin. Once you’ve also calmed down a bit, you start to wonder if you’ve overstepped your boundaries by how you just acted.

But could he blame you? You watched him almost get beaten to death, and with the way he looked at you in the ring, how could you not have gotten worried? 

You slowly trace your finger over a purplish patch of his skin mindlessly as the images flood your memory. You remember how helpless you felt, and the sickness in your stomach every time Iwaizumi took another punch to the gut, and the way he—

Before you could stop it, a small tear rolls down your cheek and lands on his flesh, causing Iwaizumi to blink.

Are you… crying? 

You didn’t even notice.

Iwaizumi freezes at the sensation, and contemplates what to do when he hears you rub your nose and sniffle. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Frankly, he has no qualms about getting into street fights, fighting illegally for money, or even punching random scumbags who want to take advantage of you, but holy _fuck_ he has no idea what to do when you’re crying. 

And he can’t lie, he even feels a bit guilty for slightly lashing out at you, when you were just trying to help.

Iwaizumi groans internally at the nagging feeling of his conscience and begins to push himself back up into a sitting position as you quickly try to regain your composure.

“I didn’t mean to be an asshole earlier,” he finally says, facing you with his back leaned against the headboard.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, feeling a bit awkwardly vulnerable now that he knows how much you’ve been affected by this.

“Then what’s wrong?” he sighs, his eyes fixated on you, while yours avert their gaze.

You hesitate, considering your response as you stare at his hands, noticing the bruises and cuts on his fingers and knuckles.

“It’s just…” you start, biting your lip. You casually take his hands into your own as you sift through the first aid kit for more bandages, trying to stay occupied. “It was really scary… watching that fight.”

You try to ignore the fact that you’re practically burning under Iwaizumi’s intense gaze.

“Not to mention you’d already said several times during the week you were sore, and I still dragged you out to that party,” you whisper, voice breaking again. “You had to carry me back, punched someone because of me, slept on a cramped bed and barely got any rest because of me, I just—I thought you were gonna die.”

Your own guilt washes over you in waves as you say the words out loud, another tear threatening to fall while you finish putting a bandaid over the side of Iwaizumi’s hand.

He flicks your forehead with his fingers, causing you to jump slightly and look up at him, rubbing the area of impact with your hand.

“Ow!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Iwaizumi chuckles, the sound easing the tension in your shoulders. “I wasn’t gonna die; dudes like the one I fought today get cocky too easily, so when he lunged at it me, it wasn’t hard to dodge it and hit him where it hurts.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” you grumble, and pause. “Oikawa said you broke his jaw.”

“Well, it was either him or me.”

You take a deep breath at the thought. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you got really badly hurt. Because of me and that stupid party.”

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise.

He’s rendered speechless for a moment at the conclusion you’ve come to; no matter what happened during that match, never in a million years would he have blamed you for it. Why should _you_ feel responsible for _his_ weakness?

You really are hopeless, and maybe a bit too nice.

“Well I’m fine now, aren’t I?” he sighs, trying to lighten the mood when he notices the corners of your lips fall again. “Why are you so upset anyway?”

You look at him in disbelief, as if the answer is obvious.

“Because I care about you.”

_Because I like you._

The following thought comes a split second later, and you feel your chest tighten at the realization.

You’ve known it all along, but this is the first time you’ve truly felt it, and acknowledged it, albeit silently.

Your words linger in the still air between you two.

For a second, Iwaizumi can’t tell if his heart had skipped a beat, or just stopped functioning altogether.

Is it really so hard to believe that he means that much to someone? To you?

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

His eyes fall to the scratch on your cheek, which isn’t quite bleeding, but is very evidently missing some skin.

“What happened to your face?” he asks, leaning in to get a better look.

“Someone accidentally hit me when they were cheering for _you_ ,” you say quickly, moving away from him and covering the spot with your hand. 

Why do you suddenly feel so nervous? 

“My life has taken a real nosedive since I met you,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. 

Though it’s a meager movement, you notice Iwaizumi press his lips together firmly as he stiffens slightly, looking away.

“I’m kidding,” you giggle softly, easing the tension that’s been occupying the air for much too long. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t miss your sniveling as your nose runs slightly, thanks to your eyes tearing up earlier, and sighs again when he sees your lip still quivering.

You must’ve really been shaken up _badly_ this time.

He slowly reaches an arm out and rests his hand on the back of your head, your eyes widening as he gently pulls you into a hug.

Your heart thumps loudly against your chest as he murmurs in your ear, “You’re really something, you know that?”

Has he said that to you before?

Heat rushes to your cheeks as he lets you go and you pull away; Iwaizumi rubs his neck awkwardly while you two sit in silence, and the large dragon tattoo peeking over his shoulder catches your eye again.

This doesn’t go unnoticed, and Iwaizumi decides to change the subject to take your mind off the night’s events.

“Didn’t you say you liked tattoos?” he asks, letting you resume bandaging his injuries. “Why don’t you just get one?”

“I almost did once,” you reveal, handing him one of the ice packs to use while you tend to his hands. “I had the design figured out and everything too, but ended up chickening out—plus it was too expensive for me at the time. Then I just never got around to it again.”

“I can hook you up with a guy if you want,” Iwaizumi says casually as your eyes light up. “He’ll probably do it for cheap since we’re friends, especially if it’s a small piece.”

“Really?” you gasp, visibly excited. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay, deal,” you grin at him before turning your attention back to the first aid kit.

Iwaizumi watches you quietly, resisting the urge to smile softly at the way you practically bubbled with warmth at such an easy, simple offer of his.

It’s a good thing you’re too busy looking for a specific, medium-sized band aid to notice, because it might be weird how long he can stare at your happy expression. He feels relieved seeing your smile reappear.

And in that moment, Iwaizumi decides that he doesn’t ever want to make you cry like that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments are greatly appreciated ♡  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active!


	10. opportunity.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You experience another level of Iwaizumi’s unexpected domesticity, but two new situations present themselves—one to you, and both to him.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Throwaway" by SG Lewis ft. Clairo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT — next week’s chapter will be posted on sunday instead of saturday! i have something else scheduled to be posted on the 13th, so keep an eye out for that :3   
> hope you like this chapter! (sorry it was a bit short, but things will start picking up again after this hhh)

* * *

It’s unfortunate that even when things in your personal life (read: things regarding Iwaizumi Hajime) feel like a whirlwind of events, school continues.

As much as you’d like to, although you’d choose death before admitting it, you don’t have the option of staying home to look after the badly bruised and injured fighter laying in your bed. Luckily, Iwaizumi’s got another person who’s more than willing to take care of him while you go to work and class—someone with a sickeningly saccharine smile and an inability to shut up.

A small grin creeps onto your lips as you contemplate who’s currently suffering more in your apartment: Iwaizumi, who can’t stand Oikawa’s cheeky antics, or Oikawa, who is always on the receiving end of some sort of [physical] punishment for those antics.

You sigh as the dark skies of dawn outside the convenience store slowly begin to lighten with the pale, blue hues of sunrise, choosing to pull out your phone since there isn’t a single customer in sight.

> [07:06] **You** : how’s the tough guy holding up?

Oikawa texts back almost immediately. His response time is quite remarkable, honestly.

> [07:07] **Oikawa** : he’s fine, being a tough guy as usual. why? are you that worried? ;)

You suddenly also have the strong urge to strangle the smug bastard. It’s too early for this.

> [07:08] **You** : worried about leaving you two alone in my apartment to rob me, maybe

There’s a moment’s pause before you get a reply.

> [07:10] **Oikawa** : he says “don’t tempt me” **Oikawa** : he also says he misses you and that he hopes you have a nice day at school today<3

A laugh escapes you before you roll your eyes at Oikawa’s message, undoubtedly one curated to intentionally push you and Iwaizumi together. You pray Iwaizumi doesn’t see what Oikawa texted you, for fear of the latter getting a good beating.

You sigh, well-aware that the day is going to feel _extra_ long knowing you have two grown man-children waiting for you back home.

* * *

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath as he walks down aisle four of the small grocery store a few streets from your apartment, looking for the pasta and dried noodles section. 

His hand automatically finds its way to the back of his neck, rubbing at the aching soreness as he cranes it from left to right. 

Maybe Oikawa wasn’t spewing _complete_ bullshit when he chided Iwaizumi to take it easy and just rest.

Well, Oikawa’s the one who said he had an appointment and had to leave early; it’s not Iwaizumi’s fault if no one is here to stop him from getting up and moving around—you said in your text that you’d be back in a couple of hours anyway.

And besides, what are you and Oikawa? Babysitters?

Maybe you’re not a _babysitter_ , per se, but Iwaizumi _does_ appreciate the extra effort of you texting him during class and catching him up on anything he might’ve missed earlier in the day—now’s as important as ever for him to do well. 

Thus, he’s made the conscious decision to take care of your dinner tonight.

God, he wants to punch something just thinking about what that stupid Oikawa would say if he knew, with that shit-eating smirk on his face.

It’s just that, Iwaizumi knows very well at this point you aren’t _nearly_ as diligent about eating proper meals as you should be—it only took him one gander inside your refrigerator and a loud “Damn, you live like this?” to verify that.

Plus, considering he pretty much… made you cry last night, _and_ you’re letting him seek hospitality in your apartment—well, maybe providing you a meal is the least he could do. Just this once.

And no, he’s not going to feed you any of that greasy, unhealthy take-out shit.

Iwaizumi spends the next few minutes gathering the rest of the ingredients he needs, ignoring the wary glances the cashier keeps giving him at the sight of his bandaged hands and small facial injuries.

He rolls his eyes at the conspicuous nature of it all, mutters a quick, “thank you,” and strolls through the sliding doors to head back.

Iwaizumi doesn’t make it very far down the street until a tall, middle-aged man wearing a well-tailored suit and dark-tinted sunglasses blocks his way, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Tch,” Iwaizumi grunts, after unsuccessfully trying to get around the stranger. “Who the fuck are you?”

The newcomer gives him a dry smile.

“Care to have a little chat?”

* * *

You think your nose is fooling you when you reach your apartment door.

Could it be that your neighbors are cooking up a feast? Why is there such a strong, fragrant smell coming from your part of the hallway? Did Oikawa order food? Because, surely, Iwaizumi can’t be—

You blink in surprise once you turn the knob into your apartment, the waft of a fresh, homemade dinner greeting you warmly. 

Peeling off your coat and your bag, you make your way to the kitchen, poking your head in to observe the situation: there stands Iwaizumi, tall and muscular in his fresh change of clothes (most likely courtesy of Oikawa) with… your apron tied around his waist.

That’s _definitely_ your apron.

You bite your lip as to not “aww” or laugh out loud, and knock on the wall to announce your arrival.

“Oh wow, uh, honey I’m home,” you joke as Iwaizumi’s hair shoots up in irritation and his grip on the saucepan tightens. “The apron is cute on you.”

For the first time ever, you think Iwaizumi gives you the same look he does to Oikawa seconds before he throttles him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, turning off your stove and plating the food. “Food’s ready.”

“Woow… you should consider being a househusband,” you tease once more and push your boundaries, marveling at the meal that looks _more_ than appetizing. “Chef Iwa, maybe?”

“You know what, you don’t have to eat,” Iwaizumi snaps. “Or I’ll just poison your food.”

“Nooo, please don’t,” you say with feigned defeat, helping him carry the plates onto your dining table. “This looks really good.”

“It’s just pasta—anyone can make pasta.” He rolls his eyes at you as he removes the apron from his body slowly, his bandaged arms and muscles flexing underneath his t-shirt.

You frown slightly at how gingerly he sits down in the chair across from you—though he tries to hide it.

“Why are you even up?” you scold, puffing out your cheeks in irritation. “Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

“It’s not like I broke anything,” Iwaizumi shrugs, looking away. “I always heal fast anyway—guess I’m just built different.”

Your eyebrow twitches at his comment, but stops once he glances back at you and nods at your plate.

“Eat.”

You give him one last disapproving look and say, “Thanks for the meal.”

Picking up your fork, you delve into the pasta, and holy _fuck_ it’s amazing. 

Iwaizumi smirks at the way your eyes practically sparkle while you chew happily, clearly as a result from being starved all day.

“Good?” he asks, satisfied with already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” you bubble without hesitation as he begins to take a bite as well. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anyone can make pasta,” he repeats with a chuckle.

While you two eat, Iwaizumi can’t stop his mind from wandering to the unexpected encounter he had earlier with the man from the market.

* * *

_“I’m the representative of the fighters you’ll be facing in your next two matches,” he said, taking off his sunglasses. “My sponsor would like to make a deal with you—he’d like you to lose those two matches.”_

_“What the fuck are you saying?” Iwaizumi grated, pushing past the stranger. “As if.”_

_“I’d consider it if I were you,” he called after him. “We’ll pay you quite a generous amount.”_

_Iwaizumi merely scoffed, until he heard his voice again._

_“Enough so you can quit fighting for a good amount of time.”_

_Iwaizumi froze in his tracks._

_There was no fucking way._

_“Huh?” he snorted. “You’re lying.”_

_“Why don’t you check your account balance right now?” the man asked nonchalantly, wiping his sunglasses with the handkerchief tucked in his breast pocket._

_Iwaizumi eyed him skeptically, then pulled out his phone, opening his bank app—what he saw would’ve made his jaw drop, if he wasn’t more careful._

_“How the fuck did you—”_

_“We’ve got our ways,” the stranger shrugged. “Consider that a greeting gift. Each payment will be five times that amount, and you’ll receive the first payment after next Sunday if you lose.”_

_Iwaizumi stood there, at a loss for words while the man walked past him, breathing into his ear, “Think about it.”_

* * *

“Hellooooo,” you call, cocking your head. “Earth to Iwa.”

Iwaizumi blinks at you, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Shit, sorry,” he says. “Did you say something?”

“Mm, not really,” you respond, eyeing him carefully. “Is something on your mind? Not like you to space out, y’know.”

“Nope,” he says simply, finishing off his food while you watch him, unconvinced.

Unable to stand you staring at him like a hawk, he sighs, putting his fork down, deciding to tell you something else he’s been meaning to say.

“I applied to this internship program in California,” Iwaizumi says, leaning back in his chair. 

“Woah, that’s so cool!” you exclaim. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

You wish you had something within arm’s reach to throw at him.

“So tell me about it then,” you encourage, taking another bite of your pasta, which is now lukewarm.

“It’s a pretty prestigious program and held by one of the coach’s acquaintances I told you about, so I dunno if I’ll get in, honestly,” Iwaizumi says, rubbing his neck. “But there were a few openings since apparently some people who were already accepted dropped out last minute.”

“Oh dang, it sounds like you took advantage of a good opportunity then,” you observe, nodding along. “Wait, when does the program start?”

“After this semester,” he answers, ignoring the way your eyes almost pop out of your head. “It’s… a year-long program.”

“What?!” you almost yell. “Sorry—wait, what about graduation?”

“That’s why I was hoping I could work something out with the university, maybe finish my last semester online or something,” Iwaizumi says coolly. “Not like I really cared about walking across a stage for a few seconds to shake hands with an old dude I’ve never met before, anyway.”

“Ooh.”

“But that’s why now I _really_ have to try and make sure my grades are good,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair. “If I do well in the program—and if I get in—maybe they’ll offer me something long-term with Coach Utsui, since he’s an affiliate.”

“Oh wow, that’s…” you trail off, taking a sip of your water. “That’s really good.”

A strange silence falls between you two as you realize what this entails; you’re happy for him—of _course_ you are. But this could also mean he’ll move away for who-knows-how-long, leaving you behind.

You feel selfish for that to even be a thought that crossed your mind, but can’t help paying attention to it as it nags at you in the forefront of your brain.

“I think you’ve got a pretty good shot,” you force yourself to grin at him. “If they have you come in for an interview or an audit or something, you can demonstrate how much hands-on experience you have.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at you, chuckling slightly.

“If you’re talking about me constantly getting injured doing illegal underground fighting, I’m not sure that’s exactly what they wanna see,” he says, shaking his head. “But yeah, we’ll see.”

“Well, looks like you actually gotta come to class now, even though you do just fine on tests when you don’t,” you beam at him. “And I’m happy for you. Really.”

Iwaizumi gives you a small, hesitant smile in return.

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gaaahhh i hope you liked it! again, sorry it was short :(  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active!  
> comments are always appreciated, and thank you for reading ♡


	11. inked.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi takes you to get your first tattoo, done by his very attractive friend, and you have a hard time believing this isn’t “date night.” It even includes an unexpected piece of news to wrap up the evening.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Y.O.U." by Luh Kel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much @derprah for your generous ko-fi donation, i really almost cried, thank you :( anyway, happy valentine’s day, everyone! i was so excited to write this chapter when i first came up with the idea, so i hope you all enjoy it as well ♡ everyone say thank you yue for reinforcing tattoo artist!mattsun

* * *

Iwaizumi spends the next two days mulling over everything that’s happened as of late: his close match in the ring, telling you about the internship in California, and, of course, the offer from his opponents’ sponsor. He’s never been the type to let the things on his mind disrupt his sleep, since that’s just pointless and doesn’t help anyone.

But considering his tossing and turning all Tuesday night (or, more accurately, Wednesday morning) at the expense of his sore body, Iwaizumi finally decided to do something after waking up several hours before his alarm.

And so, here he is, a street away from your workplace at 6:10 a.m. with a lit cigarette still between his teeth. Iwaizumi slows his walking pace, pulling a hand out of his warm pocket to tap off the excess ashes on the roll of tobacco. Letting out a long, slow exhale, he considers the proposition he’s been presented as the smoke curls and vanishes into the air.

Obviously, Iwaizumi doesn’t like to lose; in fact, he hates it. He works hard, and enjoys seeing his efforts pay off with the victories in all aspects of his life—they’re what he takes pride in. So to ask him to lose, let alone on _purpose_ , just feels ludicrous.

But of course, that’s under normal circumstances.

Add an _unbelievable_ sum of money to the picture, and now he’s got himself a real predicament.

Now add another person, a girl who blames herself and can somehow be brought to tears over _his_ life being in danger, and, well, things get even more difficult—especially when Iwaizumi _just_ swore not to make you cry ever again.

Yet, in addition to being competitive and eager to win, Iwaizumi is also a pragmatic man. He knows that, as ethically grey as it is to let himself get his ass handed to him just to up the number in his bank account, it makes the most sense in terms of practicality if it can earn him enough to stop fighting for good. Because it doesn’t just grant him money—it earns him _freedom_.

And therein lies his problem.

Sacrifices are necessary when it comes to focusing on the bigger picture, so what exactly is holding him back?

Iwaizumi’s steps come to a halt as he approaches the convenience store, his eyes landing on your figure through the window glass as you disinfect and wipe down the countertop of the cash register. He lets out a sigh, pushing open the door and inviting himself in.

“Hey,” he says casually as you whip your head around at the sound of the door opening.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” you assert irritatedly at the sight of his cigarette, your face mask slightly muffling your voice. “If you ignore my ‘No Smoking’ sign one more time, I’ll have your head.”

You grab the broomstick from beside you and wave it menacingly at him as if it were a queen’s scepter, but he just blinks at you and smirks, “You’ll give me head?”

Your eyes widen with horror and disgust as you chase him away with the broom, until he finishes putting out the cigarette and disposes of it.

“I mean, we’ve already slept together so—”

You shoot him a warning look as he chuckles, holding his hands up in feigned defeat. 

“Kidding.”

“Why are you even here?” you ask, pulling your face mask down to your chin so he can hear you. “You never come on Wednesdays.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answers simply, carefully making his way around you to take a seat behind the counter.

You raise an eyebrow at him, but don’t press any further.

“And why do you smoke anyway?” you scold, grabbing a can of air freshener to spritz it around the whole pathway he just took. “Aren’t you a sports science major? And sort of an athlete at this point? Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It helps take the edge off when I’m stressed,” he shrugs, leaning back in your chair to watch you clean. “Or when I’ve got shit on my mind.”

“It’s not good for you,” you frown, yawning as the fatigue suddenly catches up to you while you continue wiping. “Are you stressed about your internship? I honestly think you’ll be fine, if you ask me.”

You grin at him, and Iwaizumi gives you a hesitant, forced smile.

He clicks his tongue at how clueless you are.

_You really have no idea_ , he thinks to himself.

If only you knew… but Iwaizumi also prefers that you don’t.

“Are we still on for Friday night?” he asks casually.

Oh right, Friday.

Iwaizumi had, to your surprise, made good on his word to hook you up with a tattoo artist relatively quickly. The craziest part? He was nice about all of it too (as far as nice goes with tough guy Iwaizumi, of course).

He’d sent his friend a photo of the design you wanted—which was quite small and simple, considering it would be your first—who had allegedly responded with, “Oh yeah, that’s fine, piece of cake.”

And if setting up your Friday night appointment wasn’t enough, Iwaizumi then proceeded to announce that you two would be getting dinner to ensure that you eat before visiting the tattoo parlour, since he didn’t want you “passing out on him” … Why does he make getting your first tattoo sound like torture?

“Of course,” you chirp. “I’m excited.”

“Don’t be.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at you as you finish wiping the counter.

You grab another cloth and the bottle of disinfectant spray, hesitating.

“It’s a date then,” you finally grin, immediately dashing away to clean a different part of the store, giving Iwaizumi no chance to respond as he sits in your chair behind the counter, trying not to gape at the empty spot you were just standing in.

_But is it a date, though?_ you wonder to yourself, spraying down the display glass in front of the store’s bottled drinks. Surely, any other person with proper judgment would think so, but it’s hard to tell with Iwaizumi. If you didn’t know any better, sometimes, you’d think he likes you back.

Well, you know he likes you, because he tolerates you, and maybe cares about your wellbeing.

But is it in the same way that you feel about him? That’s the question.

You don’t want to get ahead of yourself and jump to any conclusions, but _god_ he makes it difficult sometimes. 

* * *

Friday night seems to come all too soon, and not soon enough.

After a hearty evening meal that Iwaizumi paid for (which continues to make it hard to believe that this _isn’t_ a date), you two have finally made your way up two flights of outdoor stairs and come face-to-face with the large glass windows of a tattoo and piercing parlour.

The large, red letters spelling _“TATTOO”_ in calligraphy feel almost three-dimensional with the yellow outlines, as if looming over you as you slowly approach the shop. You never knew letters of the alphabet would be daunting or intimidating.

“Scared?” Iwaizumi smirks at your expression as you two walk closer to the entrance. “Not too late to back out now, if you want.”

“No,” you scoff, swallowing thickly right after the word leaves your mouth. “Well, you can’t blame me for being a little nervous for my first time—I don’t have a huge dragon tattoo on my shoulder like you do.”

“Fair,” Iwaizumi shrugs, pushing open the glass door for you to enter. “Go on then. After you.”

You give him a look before strolling past him into the parlour, Iwaizumi trailing closely behind. 

The first thing you notice about the inside of the shop is… how clean it is. The white tiles on the floor practically shine with the reflections of the lights hanging above, a stark contrast from the matte, dark grey walls on all four sides. 

Iwaizumi stands next to you as he glances around, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” a voice greets, and you see a tall, lanky man with messy black hair emerge from one of the staff rooms you must’ve missed. 

“Hey man,” Iwaizumi returns with a familiar grin, exchanging a quick handshake with the stranger, whose toned biceps are practically screaming at you for attention underneath the sleeves of his white t-shirt.

“This is Matsukawa,” Iwaizumi says, turning to you as his friend gives you a lopsided grin. “He’s my good friend, and also the best tattoo artist around—even if he’s just here part-time.”

“Hi!” you quickly introduce yourself, trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks at the sight of a large, intricate snake tattoo curving along his neck, just _barely_ peeking out from beneath his collar. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Matsukawa chuckles, leaning down to level his eyes with yours. Why are all of Iwaizumi’s friends so tall? And attractive? 

“ _You_ can call me Issei,” he smiles, raising a thick eyebrow at you. “C’mon, follow me.”

He swiftly leads you to the far back of the studio, past two other customers who are currently getting their own tattoos done, while Iwaizumi follows, taking a seat in the chair beside the black, cushioned chair that you’d assume is where you’ll be sitting—or, in this case, laying.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Matsukawa says as he washes his hands at the sink built into the counter. “Iwaizumi, help her adjust the chair, will you?”

You awkwardly slide yourself onto the chair while Iwaizumi makes his way over to your side, lowering the back rest so that you can lay down almost completely horizontally. It’s oddly intimate, even when all he’s doing is removing the arm rests so that they don’t get in Matsukawa’s way later, since Iwaizumi’s face is only a few inches from yours as you quietly watch him adjust the screws.

“Relax, will you?” Iwaizumi chuckles, looking up at you. You didn’t even realize you were biting your lip. “Do you want to hold my hand later?”

His teasing tone gives you the sudden urge to hit him, but you’re too distracted thinking about whether or not you made the wrong decision to get a _rib_ tattoo for your first piece, no matter how small. 

“N-no,” you sputter stubbornly, unable to come up with some sort of snarky retort.

“Suit yourself,” Iwaizumi shrugs, a knowing smirk still on his lips.

But a few minutes later, after Matsukawa has put on a fresh pair of black, nitrile gloves, helped you tie your shirt up so that it ends right above your rib cage, and finished adjusting the stencil against your skin for the final time, you begin to second-guess your prideful refusal earlier.

Noticing your look of uncertainty as Matsukawa prepares his equipment of needles and inks, he comments, “Rib tattoos sting a little bit more than other areas even if it’s a small piece, just so you know beforehand.”

You gulp as you stare upwards at the ceiling, your eyes then automatically darting to Iwaizumi, who’s sitting on your other side. You don’t even know _why_ you looked at him.

“Last call,” Iwaizumi says coolly, taking his hand out of his pocket and waving it beside your head. 

That asshole. He’s definitely enjoying this. You just _know_ he’s laughing inside.

You glance quickly over at Matsukawa as he puts the last of the ink into the tattoo machine.

“People _do_ like to hold onto something, especially for their first time,” he says, as if answering a question you never even asked while he turns his attention back to the machine. “I heard it helps.”

You sigh and silently take Iwaizumi’s hand in yours, praying he can’t tell how embarrassed and vulnerable you feel right now. 

How could you not? You’re in a room full of people who probably have several [large] tattoos, and you’re laying here, awkward and exposed, nervous for your first one.

“You’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi says simply, watching the way your fingers curl around his with full, undisclosed satisfaction.

“Ready?” Matsukawa asks after cleaning the patch of skin that’s soon to be traced over with needles. 

You nod, subconsciously tightening your grip on Iwaizumi’s hand. If you weren’t so distracted with the feeling of Matsukawa’s cold gloves against your ribs, you’d think you felt Iwaizumi give you a little squeeze back.

“Just let me know if you want me to stop,” Matsukawa says, his dark eyes meeting yours before flitting back to your skin. “But don’t worry, it probably won’t be as bad as you think.”

“Okay,” you squeak, startled that your voice came out like that. “I’ll probably be fine.”

Honestly, you can appreciate how nice he is to you; it’s not like you can’t stand pain, it’s just the ordeal of being faced with something foreign and unknown that can be a bit daunting sometimes.

Matsukawa turns the tattoo machine on, and your muscles immediately tighten at the sound of the loud buzzing. You feel the first contact against your flesh, and squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation.

It’s like someone is dragging a pen along your skin, _hard_.

The experience isn’t unbearable, but the pain is sharp enough to make your heart speed up, searing through your whole body with your ribs as a starting point. And it seems like the more you tense up, the more it hurts.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” you hear Matsukawa instruct gently as you open your eyes, seeing Iwaizumi lean over to get a good look at the work his friend is doing on you.

You force yourself to inhale steadily, then exhale slowly, and allow your body to unclench itself.

“Good girl,” Iwaizumi murmurs, his voice low and deep as he holds your hand.

Your muscles involuntarily tighten immediately at his words, and you suddenly feel an agonizing pain course through your ribcage while Matsukawa continues to trace the design.

“Stop that,” Matsukawa mutters, shooting Iwaizumi a warning glance.

“Stop what?” Iwaizumi smirks, still admiring the tattoo process.

“You know what.”

You wonder if you’ll make it out of here alive.

… But thankfully, after about an hour or so, you hear Matsukawa turn off the machine.

“Done.”

You never thought you’d hear him say that word as you release your sweaty hand from Iwaizumi’s grasp, pulling it away while you push yourself back up, both men helping you in the process.

“Woah,” you marvel at the small design of black ink on your ribcage. “It looks so good, thank you.”

You beam at Matsukawa as he blinks at you.

“Uh, sure.”

He spends the next few minutes applying a layer of protective ointment on your skin before wrapping it with a bandage, giving you the proper aftercare instructions.

Afraid that you’ll forget, you hastily reach into your bag and hand Matsukawa the neat, small stack of bills you’d prepared for him beforehand.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Matsukawa says, attempting to push the money away back towards you. “It’s nothing, really.”

“I insist,” you demand, unwilling to take no for an answer. “Thank you for taking the time out to do this for me.”

Matsukawa gives Iwaizumi a look, who merely shrugs in response, before sighing and taking the bills from you. 

“Thanks then.”

You grin at him in response, then remember to turn your phone back on, for fear of having missed any calls. And surely enough, you see a missed call from your club president.

“Um, I’ll be right back,” you announce, pointing at your phone. “I gotta return someone’s call.”

Iwaizumi waves you away while Matsukawa nods, and you pull your shirt back over your exposed skin before making your way outside the shop to see what the president could possibly want on a Friday night.

“Wanna go out back?” Matsukawa cocks his head towards the back of the studio, taking off his gloves and rubbing his neck.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi agrees, following his friend’s lead.

Once outside, Matsukawa leans against the railing of the building’s balcony with his arms, lighting a cigarette before putting it between his lips. He offers the box towards Iwaizumi, gesturing for him to take one, but the latter hesitates, merely shakes his head and putting his hands in his pockets.

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t press.

“So are you guys sleeping together or what?” he asks, blowing out a puff of smoke in the cold, evening air. 

“Nah, it’s not like that,” Iwaizumi answers, stretching his neck out by tilting his head to the right, then to the left. 

“That’s unlike you,” Matsukawa comments, taking another hit of his cigarette.

“Things are… different with her,” Iwaizumi shrugs.

“Gross.”

The two friends stand quietly for a couple of moments, until Iwaizumi opens his mouth to speak again.

“Thanks for doing the tattoo, man,” he says, breaking the silence.

“It’s fine,” Matsukawa chuckles. “She’s sweet, and I like her. I think she’s good for you.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.”

* * *

It’s actually quite nice, the way Iwaizumi insisted on taking you home after you two said your goodbyes to Matsukawa. And he didn’t mind, either, because he didn’t think about how _annoying_ you’d be after he brought up the fact that you couldn’t come to his next match in two days.

“Why not?” you ask, your tone bordering on a whine as you two walk through your apartment door. “I’ll just wear extra layers.”

“I told you,” Iwaizumi mutters. “A tattoo is literally a fresh wound on your body—you’re gonna get it infected rubbing against so many grimy people like that.”

“But—”

“No buts, or I’m gonna leave you stranded in the middle of nowhere next time you get on my motorcycle,” Iwaizumi says with finality, cutting you off.

You pout at him when you hear his cellphone ring, and decide to leave him alone while you head to your room to change. But once you walk back outside, you hesitate at the sight of Iwaizumi’s unreadable expression.

“What happened?” you ask, slowly rejoining him in the living room. 

Iwaizumi stares at you and opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“They want me to come in for an interview,” he finally says.

Your eyes widen as your heart races, and you fling yourself onto him without even thinking.

“Congrats!” you squeal, giggling in excitement as you hug him tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck. “I told you so.”

Iwaizumi is speechless for a second as he puts his hand on your back, a small laugh finally escaping his lips along with a sigh of relief.

He replays the words in his head, still in disbelief that, maybe, he has a future after all.

_“We actually really liked your application,”_ the recruiter had said. _“Just consider the interview a formality—I’d say you’re pretty much in.”_

After coming back to his senses, Iwaizumi finally peels you off of him with his strong arms, while still handling you as carefully as he can. 

“I literally _just_ told you not to irritate the skin around your new tattoo,” he scolds, shaking his head at your sheepish smile.

“Sorry, I got excited,” you smile, eyes still sparkling. “I’m happy for you.”

Iwaizumi gives you a hesitant, tight smile as he presses his lips together firmly, just finally realizing what this entails. 

None of this is a dream, or hopelessly out of reach anymore. If things go right, his life could go in a completely different direction, real fast.

And he might finally have to come to terms with leaving everything he knows behind, which now includes you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active :)  
> comments are greatly appreciated, and thank you for reading ♡


	12. distance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi makes his decision, and the consequences follow.
> 
> Soundtrack: "Distance" by Ruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so cheesy and the pacing is garbage bc i’ve been completely out of it for the past two days i’m so sorry i don’t even know if it’s coherent

* * *

Unfortunately for Iwaizumi, just because he banned you from coming to his match shortly after being freshly tattooed, doesn’t mean he can stop you from keeping tabs on him—not that he found out until Oikawa had already helped him into the cab, and given the driver your apartment address.

And considering he is, once again, beaten and bruised—though not as badly as last week—he wasn’t really in any condition to protest or do anything about it. In fact, Iwaizumi’s lucky that Oikawa bought his “my motorcycle is in the shop for maintenance” excuse to not question its absence.

He didn’t even stop to consider the possibility that Iwaizumi had purposely left his motorcycle at home, knowing that he’d be in no shape to ride it.

Why would he?

Iwaizumi treasures his pride—he’d be the last person on Earth Oikawa could ever suspect of losing on purpose.

And yet, here he is, sitting in the backseat of the vehicle with patches of purple and blue scattered over his torso underneath his shirt, while Oikawa sits beside him in unsuspecting concern. After all, it wasn’t hard losing a fight when Iwaizumi hadn’t even fully recovered from last week’s match—though he _does_ hate knowing the fact that he probably still could’ve kicked his opponent’s ass, had it not been a deliberate loss.

* * *

His jaw tightens as he clenches his teeth at the sight of your apartment coming into view through the car’s window in the dark hour before dawn. The sun will probably rise soon, since the fight was much later today than it usually is scheduled for. 

It isn’t long before the taxi slows to a stop in the middle of your street, and Oikawa pushes the door open, trying to help his injured friend out of it.

Except the injured friend isn’t being very cooperative.

Thankfully, Oikawa is a professional athlete himself, and manages to pull Iwaizumi out of the cab, despite his obvious reluctance. 

“Come on,” Oikawa grates, trying not to get frustrated in consideration of how much physical pain his friend is probably in, even if he won’t show it. “We’re already here, whether you like it or not.”

“Why are we here anyway?” Iwaizumi mutters as he slowly hobbles towards your apartment, trying not to lean on Oikawa too much, but ultimately failing. 

“It’s not like she was there to see you lose tonight,” Oikawa chides, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t that what you wanted to avoid?”

“Doesn’t answer my question, asshole.”

“Well the venue was a lot closer to here than it was to your apartment,” Oikawa says, slowing down his pace as he notices Iwaizumi shifting more of his body weight against him, a tan, muscular arm still wrapped around his shoulders. “And… _maybe_ she texted me throughout the night for updates, and insisted I bring you here after I said you weren’t doing so hot.”

Iwaizumi glares at Oikawa as the latter looks away innocently, avoiding eye contact while they approach your doorstep. 

The door swings open merely seconds after a few knocks, and you come face-to-face with the two men, their expressions dimly lit by the sconce mounted on the wall. 

“Oh man,” you breathe, heart immediately sinking at the sight of Iwaizumi helplessly leaning onto Oikawa for support.

Stepping out of the way, you let them into your home and close the door behind you, Oikawa giving you a small, sheepish look before leading Iwaizumi into your room.

You grab a couple ice packs from your freezer—which you’d bought after Iwaizumi’s frightening fight a week prior—and walk back inside to catch a hiss escaping his lips as Oikawa tries to help him lay down on the mattress. 

It’s silent in the bedroom as you help him tend to Iwaizumi’s injuries, only mumbling a soft “Shit, sorry,” when he involuntarily winces at your touch.

There’s an unmistakable tension in the air, and, for once, Oikawa doesn’t know what to say. And he also doesn’t have a desire to insert himself into this situation, with you and Iwaizumi both being much too quiet for his liking, most likely each for different reasons. 

He sighs. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home and rest for a bit,” Oikawa yawns, standing up and slipping on his jacket, deciding to give you two some alone time.

“I can come back later if you want,” he adds, his eyes briefly flitting over in Iwaizumi’s direction before returning to you. “Just text me.”

“Oh, okay.”

You walk him to the door and give him a quick wave goodbye, which he returns with a small smile of reassurance. 

Upon reentering your room, you catch Iwaizumi now sitting up, gingerly pulling his t-shirt over his head after you and Oikawa had put the appropriate bandages and patches on his injuries. Your stomach churns at the sight of the compression wrap around his wrist, which Oikawa had said was most likely sprained.

Noticing your frown and lingering gaze, Iwaizumi puts his arm behind his neck to rest his head against it; he’d done his best in the ring to protect his face, by reason of preparing for the most important interview of his life sometime in the next two weeks—but that also meant the very arms and hands he used to guard himself must subsequently pay the price. He leans tiredly against your headboard as you approach the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight when you sit down beside him.

“How are you feeling?” you ask softly, unable to hide the concern in your voice.

You don’t want to come off as an overbearing baby because, surely Iwaizumi has dealt with injuries before—he’s lived this lifestyle long before he met you, after all. But it doesn’t change the fact that it hurts seeing someone you care about come back battered and bruised. 

“Fine,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to try and ignore the discomfort nagging at his brain from the weight of your heavy gaze. But even when his lids open just a crack, he can see the worry written on your face as clear as day. “You should’ve just slept.”

“Can’t tell me what to do,” you respond, forcing yourself to crack a small smile at him. “It’s fine, I’ve gotten used to this new sleep schedule since meeting you.”

Iwaizumi says nothing as he rolls his eyes at you.

You’re right, he _can’t_ tell you what to do. 

_“My life has taken a real nosedive since I met you.”_

Your words from last week, although a joke, echo through his mind when he notices the conflicted expression plastered across your face as you stare at the cuts and bruises on his other hand.

“I’m not gonna die, idiot,” Iwaizumi huffs before saying rhetorically, “and guess I can’t tell you to stop looking so damn worried all the time either, huh.”

“Probably not.”

Silence falls over the two of you once more.

You inhale sharply and look up, Iwaizumi meeting your gaze as you do so. His facial features—strong brows, piercing gaze, and sharp jawline—accentuated by the dim lighting of your bedside lamp suddenly cause your heart to race. It pounds loudly in your ears as you roll your bottom lip in ever-so-slightly, chewing the inside of your skin.

It wasn’t difficult for Iwaizumi to notice your concern for him growing over the past few weeks, especially when it’s been so long since the last time someone cared for him as tenderly as you did. Not to mention, you were always so easy to read when you were worried. And with the way you gradually became more and more open with him in your relationship, your feelings followed suit, slowly revealing themselves to be more obvious to the both of you. 

And the worst part is, _his_ feelings are on a similar track.

The unspoken tension between you two is impossible to ignore at this point, and you open your mouth to speak.

“Iwa…” you start, throat already running dry as you swallow thickly, ignoring the sweat on your palms. “I—”

“Don’t you have to go to work?” he asks, cutting you off with a nod of his head towards the digital clock on your bedside table. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Huh?” you blink, and realize that he’s right. “Oh, um, yeah.”

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach at his interruption.

Well, that was embarrassing. Might as well just dig a hole and bury yourself in it.

But before you can get up and look for a garden shovel to relieve yourself of the humiliation, Iwaizumi leans forward and pulls you into a small hug with one arm, his hand resting gently on the back of your head.

Heat washes over your face at the close physical contact, and you swear your brain is short-circuiting. No amount of time spent with Iwaizumi can get you accustomed to any gesture of affection from him, no matter how small. 

The embrace feels warm… but distant, almost. You wonder if you’re imagining it.

“You should get going,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice sending tingles throughout your shoulders where his chin rests. 

He lets you go as you pull away, your expression flustered and his countenance unreadable.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to get up and gather your belongings, mind still distracted and in a daze as you awkwardly shuffle out of the room.

How is it time for your shift already?

“Bye,” you say, clearing your throat. 

Iwaizumi waves you away tiredly in response before you exit and shut the door behind you.

A long exhale escapes his lips once he hears you close the front door as he leans his head against the wall, back still resting on the headboard of your bed with his eyes fluttering shut.

What… is he _doing_?

First he doesn’t let you finish your sentence, despite knowing exactly what was coming, simply because he doesn’t want to hear you say the words out loud. But then he couldn’t resist the urge to pull you towards him, in a half-assed display of comfort, because he’s too afraid to do it any other way.

Iwaizumi slowly opens his eyes again, staring at your mottled ceiling with an irritatingly conflicted heart.

_This isn’t a good idea._

He knows it isn’t.

He knows.

And it’s his fault he got so ahead of himself in the past couple of months, well-aware that he’s been ignoring the voice in the back of his mind telling him the things he already knew.

Wasn’t _he_ the one mindlessly flirting with you? 

But now that you very blatantly feel something for him, he wants to run away?

_You’re a fucking loser, man._

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue in annoyance, trying to rationalize his decisions.

He’s just… not good for you.

The past week has been proof of that.

All he does is make you worry—that’s the consequence of getting attached to someone like him, someone with his lifestyle. And considering you already look like the world is ending just at the sight of some cuts and bruises, how are you going to handle watching him lose a real fight in person? Especially when it’s supposed to happen in a few weeks?

You’re just going to get hurt.

That’s a fact.

All because he decided to take a dirty deal, and keep it not only from you, but even his best friend.

_You’re the worst._

He doesn’t know what his future holds, but either way, it doesn’t look good; if things don’t turn out the way he hopes, he doesn’t have to drag you down with him and this… dangerous, unpredictable lifestyle. And even if things _do_ go well, you’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak when he leaves. For who-knows-how-long, too.

Maybe he just doesn’t deserve you. 

He should’ve known he didn’t deserve anything good since the very beginning, and learned to stick with it.

Iwaizumi lets out a slow, frustrated sigh and blinks at the sound of his phone buzzing on your nightstand.

He picks up the device, and clenches his jaw at the words displayed on the bright, rectangular screen.

_“Your bank transfer is complete.”_

* * *

The day felt longer than usual both at work and at school, the interaction between you and Iwaizumi looming over your head at every second, every waking hour. 

Did you… get rejected?

Surely, he knew exactly what you were going to say. 

An earth-shattering cringe travels through your whole body at the thought of Iwaizumi cutting you off because he didn’t want to hear your confession.

Does he just not like you back? Were you overthinking all your interactions? Did they mean nothing?

You can’t help the wave of insecurity that washes over you.

It wouldn’t be too far of a reach to say that he probably never took you seriously.

 _I mean, look at me_ , you think grimly. _I don’t look like someone he’d even speak to, let alone like._

But, at least, the friendship you two have built is real… right?

Your grip on the bag of warm takeout tightens as you walk down the hallway of your apartment complex, heart rate speeding up again in anticipation of seeing Iwaizumi. You had bought dinner for the two of you, in hopes that you could eat and talk normally, despite the awkward, almost-confrontation you had earlier in the morning.

You need it for your peace of mind.

Unlocking the door, you enter your home, calling out to him as you slip off your jacket.

And it takes you a total of fifteen seconds to realize you’d have an extra portion of leftovers tonight, because Iwaizumi is gone, and nowhere to be seen.

* * *

A week and a half has never felt so long.

Little did you know, your “rejection” would have come to be the last time you saw Iwaizumi. 

He stopped coming to the class that you two shared in the morning, stopped responding to your texts and picking up your calls, and even Oikawa hasn’t been much help because he said Iwaizumi didn’t tell him anything.

At one point, you’d even started to panic, thinking that Iwaizumi found your feelings so repulsive that he just needed to cease to exist for a little bit.

Afraid of overstepping your boundaries, you’d even opted to not message him anymore, for fear you’d just be bothering him—but it didn’t change that you were starting to get concerned.

Is he okay? Where is he? 

But, on the basis of being “friends,” and also remembering how he’d growled at you for “not telling him there was a worksheet due” when you two first began interacting, you still continued to send him class materials he’d missed, in case he needed them.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t reply, since you don’t want him to feel pressured to talk to you. Hell, you don’t even mind if he doesn’t like you back, but _he’s_ the one who said grades are more important than ever now, for his internship, and you’ll be damned if that opportunity slips out of his fingers on your watch.

You just hope that, whatever the reason for his absence, he’s at least sorted things out with his professors.

Because, no matter what happens between you two, how he feels about you, or how different you are, you still care. You care about his well being, you care about his life, you care about _him_. 

Yes, even if it’s killing you that he just disappeared into thin air.

Thus, when you see him walking out of a classroom on Wednesday morning completely by chance, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

“Iwaizumi!” you immediately yell, paying no attention to the hallway full of other university students who turned their heads at your voice. 

You see his familiar head of spiky, brown hair turn around at the call, and almost think a look of regret flashes across his face when he catches sight of you. 

“Where have you been?” you pant after pushing past a handful of people, trying to catch up to him. 

“Do I need to tell you?” he shrugs as he continues walking.

The answer takes you by surprise, and your heart sinks.

Um… okay? 

“I guess not,” you admit, now uneasy at his unusual demeanor. He feels like a stranger. “Considering you literally vanished for a week, I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he says icily, his large strides making it difficult for you to keep up without jogging.

What the fuck is he on about? Aren’t you two friends, or whatever?

“What’s wrong?” you ask, still persistent in trying to figure out the problem, despite probably looking like a damn _fool_ in public chasing after this guy who isn’t even giving you the time of day.

In fact, now he just straight up ignored you. And you don’t miss the strange glances you’re getting from people passing by.

Putting aside your dignity, you take a deep breath, trying to find the courage and willpower to say something, despite him being so fucking frustrating.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, keeping your voice as steady as you can without directly mentioning the last interaction you two shared. “Why are you acting like this?”

And finally, Iwaizumi halts, just like your heart does when he turns to look down at you, his expression cold and distant.

“Just stop,” he says frigidly, his tone cutting through you like a knife. “Whatever this is.”

“ _What_?” you gape at him, unable to distinguish whether what you’re feeling is confusion, anger, dread, or shock. 

“Let’s…” Iwaizumi begins again. 

The apathy in his voice makes you feel sick as you wait for him to finish, even if... maybe, you don’t want to. But he does anyway.

“Let’s end it here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active :)  
> comments are greatly appreciated, and i hope you enjoyed this update ♡ (... or not? hhh)


	13. sellout.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi leaves you in a state of hurt and confusion, and, although you still want answers, it isn’t long before he crosses the line.
> 
> Soundtrack: "On The Side" by Yo Trane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhh i don’t think i’ve ever been as unsatisfied with a chapter as i was this one but my brain was just totally fried today, i’m sorry y’all :( also please don’t yell at me for this sdjksdns

* * *

“ _What_?” you say again, this time feeling the anger slowly bubbling inside. The only thing that’s keeping it from pouring out is the absolute _disbelief_ you feel.

He can’t be serious.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you ask incredulously, well-aware of all the glances and whispers of people passing by at you raising your voice. You’re used to that sort of attention now, since Iwaizumi has always been a bit of a head-turner at your university, but, for the first time, you don’t feel immune to it. 

Up until now, it was easy to brush off the attention when you knew the question inside everyone’s heads was, _“Since when were those two so close?”_ But now that everyone in this hallway can hear what feels like should be a very personal conversation between you and Iwaizumi, you feel exposed, and vulnerable.

“I’m talking about how we should stop,” he waves his hands between the two of you, barely even sparing you a glance, “whatever this is.”

Your mind is racing and you don’t even have time to think properly, as he’s already walking away from you again.

“Why?” you bite, determined to get an answer out of him. He’s never acted like this before, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get an explanation.

Iwaizumi finally slows his steps, and comes to a brief halt before turning around to look at you, who’s still standing there, so confused with fists clenched.

You think you see his expression soften, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come.

“I’m not good for you,” he sighs, tilting his head to the side. “Stop acting like there was ever gonna be something between us.”

Humiliation washes over you at his words, and you didn’t think it was possible to feel so furious, confused, and sad all at the same time. You open your mouth to speak, but words don’t seem to come to you as you stand there, frozen in shock.

Iwaizumi turns back around and begins walking away while your heart pounds violently against your chest at the sight.

“I don’t believe you,” you snap.

You don’t. 

Sure, you may not know his life story or why he’s pushing you away out of nowhere, but this just… isn’t like him. You’ve spent enough time with Iwaizumi to know that, at the very least.

He doesn’t stop walking.

Iwaizumi merely tosses you a glance over his shoulder and says with an unreadable tone, “Too bad.”

Your body almost lurches forward to run after him, because you refuse to take that as an answer. You need to know what the _hell_ is going on inside that head of his.

But he calls out once more before you do, as if reading your mind.

“And don’t follow me.”

The way he doesn’t even need to turn around to do it makes you want to shrivel up and die of embarrassment, especially with all these other people looking at you, gazes full of judgment and pity.

And just like that, you watch helplessly, stunned and unable to do a single thing, while Iwaizumi disappears down the hallway, leaving you behind with nothing but the image of his back, a bad taste in your mouth, and an aching, bitter heart.

* * *

“You _what_?!” Iwaizumi barks into the phone, now more irritated than ever at what Oikawa’s just told him about you.

“She said she wanted to keep coming out to support you even if I wasn’t around,” Oikawa defends himself. “And I thought it was sweet, so, I told her the time and location of your match next weekend—you did say it’s the same, right?”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Iwazumi growls, clearly fuming.

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who told me it was gonna be another important fight,” the Argentinian points out. “And when I asked you why, you told me not to worry about it because it’d be ‘a piece of cake,’ so why _wouldn’t_ I let her go? Don’t you think it’d be nice for her to see you win after you came back looking like… _that_ , the past couple of weeks?”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth at his best friend’s words.

This is his own fault, after all, for lying. 

Oikawa would be flying back to Argentina this coming weekend, so he’d have no way of knowing about Iwaizumi’s planned loss the following week.

But he never expected the asshole to give you the match details and let you go by yourself; knowing your personality, there’s a good chance you’ll still show up even after what happened in the hallway.

_“Can’t tell me what to do.”_

_“I don’t believe you.”_

Your voice rings loudly in Iwaizumi’s head, and he lets out a sigh doused in frustration.

“Is everything okay?” Oikawa asks, his tone accompanied with the smallest trace of careful suspicion. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Family emergency,” Iwaizumi responds simply, ignoring the guilt gnawing at him for using the same excuse he used at school on his best friend.

Oikawa is quiet for a moment.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he finally says. “And stop trying to keep everything to yourself—some of us get worried, y’know.”

Iwaizumi gets the feeling his friend isn’t just referring to himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says casually, brushing him off. He _knows_ Oikawa is probably rolling his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

Iwaizumi hangs up before giving Oikawa a chance to respond, and runs his hands exasperatedly through his hair.

Despite what his friend just said, Iwaizumi doesn’t see relying on other people as an option. 

This was his own decision, as dishonorable as it may be—and he’s not about to tell you that, either. What else does he have left to protect, if not his pride?

And knowing how stubborn you are, it’s going to take a lot more than just him saying, _“Let’s end it here”_ for you to give up, especially when you can _almost_ see right through him.

* * *

The next two days feel long and dreary, every hour filling you with rotating waves of sadness, anger, confusion, and even insecurity.

The usual relief of the weekend isn’t enough to remedy your frustration, either.

Did you… just get broken up with?

Could you even call it that?

Who are you to even _think_ about comparing yourself to someone like a girlfriend to him? You probably knew less about Iwaizumi than his former “fuck buddy” did.

Why, just because he was nice to you, did a few sweet things, you really thought he’d like you back? Did you really mean nothing to him? For him to just throw you away so easily? How could he even bring himself to do that?

But despite the unkind thoughts occupying your mind about your relationship with him, there’s no denying that all the time you spent together—the lingering gazes, brushes of physical contact, small displays of affection—was real. You _felt_ it.

Things feel particularly suffocating when you have nobody to confide in about the strange situation; you can’t even tell Oikawa about how you’ve just been blindsided completely because… he was Iwaizumi’s friend first. Who are you, a random girl he’s only met a couple of months ago, to ask him for support?

Your eyes sting with heat as they begin to water, but you shake your head, snapping yourself out of the feelings of self-pity before a tear can escape.

The buzz of your phone startles you, causing you to almost jump out of your chair. You pick up the device from your desk, and your heart rate increases tenfold.

It’s a text from Iwaizumi.

What the hell? He hasn’t responded to you in almost two weeks—what could he possibly have to say to you? Is he going to explain himself?

It had taken all your self-control to not heckle him for an explanation, after all. Despite the pain of being ghosted and publicly humiliated, boundaries are boundaries. And Iwaizumi has made his very clear, starting with, _“Don’t follow me.”_

Holding your breath, you unlock your phone to read the message.

> [22:19]  
>  **Iwaizumi** : we’re having a goodbye party for oikawa tomorrow night at 11. come if you want.

A gamut of emotions swirls in your head and your chest as you reread the words on your screen for the fifth time, taking note of the address he’s sent you after—it’s a nightclub.

So are you two on good terms or not?

Is this him trying to make peace with you?

Well, you _are_ Oikawa’s friend now too, despite all the self-doubt from earlier. It makes sense to invite you—you wouldn’t want him to leave before seeing him one last time either.

Shaking your head, you get up and walk to your closet, already thinking about what to wear in 24 hours. Regardless of Iwaizumi’s intention, you’re invited.

You’re going to show up, look _good_ doing it, and maybe even have fun, for Oikawa’s sake.

And maybe you don’t have any dignity, but there’s no denying a small part of you that hopes, maybe if you look pretty enough, Iwaizumi will reconsider whatever the hell he’s doing. Or change his mind.

 _Stupid, I know_ , you think to yourself. But you can’t help it.

Love is a fickle thing.

* * *

Needless to say, you haven’t been to a club in a while, and it’s evident with the way you stand by the entrance by yourself after the bouncer had checked your ID and let you in.

You wonder why you’ve never heard of this place before.

The inside of the building is dark, except for the colorful, flashing lights to go with the loud, blaring music of the packed dance floor. Suddenly, you regret not asking for more details about where you should go once you arrive, but who knows if Iwaizumi would have even texted you back?

It’s also immediately apparent that you don’t… quite fit in here. The atmosphere is just different.

From the men smoking cigarettes in lounge booths to the women dancing on poles scattered throughout the room, you’re reminded of the first time you ever saw Iwaizumi fight, and the way you felt: like a fish out of water.

But as you make your way to the bar, in hopes of texting Oikawa so he can save you from this awkward situation, you see a familiar face coming down the stairs behind it. 

“Hana?” you ask, almost not recognizing her under all the makeup, and vastly different clothes she’s wearing from what you’ve seen at school.

“Hey!” she yells over the music, her tone a bit more saccharine than you’d like. “I didn’t think you were gonna come, but, now that you’re here, follow me!”

Slightly bewildered, you begin to put two and two together as you trail behind her, walking up a flight of stairs and past a sign that reads, _“VIP.”_

With the way everyone greets her in the club, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that _this_ must be where she works. Whoever picked the location for Oikawa’s party probably doesn’t know about what happened between you and her… right?

Your palms grow sweaty as you two approach the door of what you presume is a VIP room, and you don’t even want to _think_ about how much reserving it cost.

“After you,” Hana smiles sweetly, moving out of the way for you to enter.

“Um, thanks,” you say as you stroll past her.

You’ve never felt so insecure and out of place.

Sure, you look pretty and left the house earlier feeling good, but compared to everyone here… you’re just _cute_ , at best.

All eyes in the room turn to you, and you have a sudden desire to melt into the ground at the attention. You take a quick sweep of the room, and recognize Matsukawa sitting on the left couch with a lanky, pink-haired man you’ve never met, each with a gorgeous woman—whom you assume are the club’s hostesses—by their sides. Iwaizumi sits by himself, a cigarette between his lips, at your twelve o’clock, and you’re not sure why the sight brings you a sense of relief. Oikawa is situated on the couch on the right, clearly very comfortable and happy with the two beautiful women draped over his body, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair a tousled mess. 

Where the hell do you even sit? 

“Hey,” you smile at no one in particular, but Matsukawa is the first person you make eye contact with. You pray you don’t look as awkward to them as you feel.

But, bless his heart, he (and his lady friend) scoot over on their couch, making space for you to sit at the very end. 

“HEEEEEYYY,” Oikawa cries, as if just noticing you. 

Good god, he is _drunk_. Well, the ice bucket full of expensive liquor bottles sitting on the light-up table scattered with glass cups should’ve been indicative of that.

Despite your uncomfortable situation, you let out a laugh at Oikawa’s flushed cheeks and messy appearance. 

“You look like you’re having fun,” you muse at the brunet. 

The next twenty minutes are awful, to say the least. Matsukawa had introduced you to Hanamaki, who was the man sitting beside him—which you appreciated, but making conversation is difficult when they’re both somewhat… preoccupied by their company. It’s pretty evident to anyone and everyone that you don’t really have much business here. 

Not to mention, trying to ignore Iwaizumi sitting a couple feet away from you is a real fucking task. You’re not sure why you feel upset at how good he looks with his dark blue shirt, the top two buttons undone. Maybe it’s because he never struck you as a “dress up and look sleazy to go clubbing” type of guy.

But he becomes impossible to ignore after Hana returns and closes the door to the room, and makes her way over to him. Even more so when he shifts in his seat, allowing her to sit on his lap as she slings an arm around his neck in familiarity.

“Sorry it took me so long,” she hums, her tone sweeter than honey. “Had to sort something out with one of my other clients.”

Your throat runs dry at the sight.

Is Iwaizumi fucking joking?

Wasn’t _he_ the one who was _soooo_ angry on your behalf over what happened at the party? Now he wants to invite you to a club and get all chummy with the very person who like it’s a public show—

Your brain short circuits at what happens next.

Hana had cupped Iwaizumi’s cheek with her hand, and kissed him. 

And it didn’t stop there.

He tilted his head up to meet her eyes, before _letting_ her.

Before you knew it, he’d slipped her tongue past her lips as she ran her hands through his hair, the two of them just shamelessly making out now.

Nothing can prevent the way your jaw almost drops to the floor, and even Matsukawa raises his brows at the sight. 

Your blood runs cold and you feel sick. Like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, and your stomach is twisting and turning, both with hurt, rage, and disbelief.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been staring and gaping at them, because Iwaizumi is _kind_ enough to stop sticking his tongue down Hana’s throat for a moment to speak to you while she giggles into the crook of his neck.

“You got a problem?” he asks casually, looking directly at you. 

And that’s the last straw.

You’re hurt, but even more than that, you’re _livid_.

“What the fuck is _your_ problem?” you shoot back as everyone falls silent, the music still blaring in the background.

“I don’t have a problem,” Iwaizumi shrugs, breaking eye contact to take another sip of his dark brown drink. “If you don’t like it here, then leave.”

You finally bring yourself to stand up, face burning but still ignoring everyone’s gazes with every ounce of willpower in your body. 

Looking straight at him, voice firm and steady, you say, “You’re a real fucking asshole, Iwaizumi.”

The words come out somewhere like a hiss bordering on disappointment, but you don’t have time to dwell before you walk through the door without looking back.

You don’t yell.

You don’t stomp.

You simply leave as briskly as you would on any regular work morning, afraid that, if you’re any slower, they’ll see the tears pour out of your eyes.

Your nails are digging themselves so hard into your palms that, for a second, you wonder if flesh can tear like that. Like the way your heart feels as though it’s been torn in half without hesitance.

Rubbing your finger under your nose with a small sniffle, you exit the club as quickly as you can, only thinking about getting out of this fucking hellscape and returning to the comfort of your bed where you can cry and seethe all you want.

Meanwhile, Oikawa feels like he’s stone-cold sober for a brief second.

Well, he _thinks_ he is.

He wishes his brain would work faster even while he’s drunk, because he _wanted_ to say something when he saw your confrontation with Iwaizumi boil over—he really did. But it’s not his fault all the vodka and Henney shots made his reaction time almost on par with that of a sloth.

It took all the tension in the room, as well as the realization that you’ve just stormed out (rightfully so), for him to come back to his senses.

“That wasn’t cool, Iwa-chan,” he’d slurred, before getting up and trying to chase after you.

But by the time the athlete had stumbled clumsily out of the club and into the cold streets of the night, you were already gone without a trace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeaaahhh i'm sorry about this one LOL  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active!


	14. aftermath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't pretty after how you and Iwaizumi ended it.
> 
> Soundtrack: "A&B" by Jhené Aiko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .. heyyy.... sorry i made you guys wait for this chapter and only ending up with this LOL. it’s because i decided to split this monstrosity into two parts, so i promise i will compensate you all with next week’s update! either way, please accept my humble offering (and thank you for being so kind and patient with me OTL)

__

* * *

_“Well that was weird,” Hana hummed with a click of her tongue, completely oblivious to the heavy tension that hung in the air after your falling-out with Iwaizumi—or simply just choosing to ignore it. She brought her left hand up to link her fingers with the other, an arm still draped comfortably over his shoulder. “Should we—”_

_“Get out.”_

_Iwaizumi’s words left his lips callously, sharp as a knife and cold as ice._

_A look of genuine surprise washed over Hana’s face at his sudden change in demeanor, and she couldn’t help but blink at him in confusion._

_“Huh?” she almost stuttered, unable to read his expression even when their faces were a mere few inches apart. “What do you mean?”_

_“What part do you not understand?” Iwaizumi asked with an unwelcoming tone, cocking his head to the side to level his eyes with hers. “Get the fuck off of me, and leave.”_

_Realizing that he was being serious, Hana let out a scoff, half-offended and half-upset, before she uncrossed her legs to slide off his lap. It seemed like she didn’t have any more business being here, either._

_“Don’t forget my tip,” she muttered, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder before sauntering out of the VIP room._

_Iwaizumi said nothing as he took his glass off the glowing table in front of him, the cup still one-thirds full of dark liquor. He downed the rest of the alcohol with one smooth gulp, tossing his head back while Hanamaki and Matsukawa watched._

_“Seems like you have a real knack for pissing women off,” the latter commented, taking a large sip of his own drink before his female companion promptly refilled it for him._

_“Are you surprised?” Iwaizumi shrugged as he got up from his seat. “I’m gonna head out first, but you guys have fun. Just put everything on my tab.”_

_His friends exchanged looks with their brows raised, but Iwaizumi had already begun making his exit without giving them a chance to say anything. He really didn’t want to deal with Oikawa when he came back, either._

_“I don’t even wanna know,” Hanamaki sighed and leaned back against the couch with an arm still slung around his partner._

_The door closed behind Iwaizumi, cutting off the sounds of his friends’ voices and the muffled music that continued blaring through the speakers._

* * *

Iwaizumi opens his eyes, the bitter note you two had ended things on a couple of days ago still lingering fresh in the forefront of his brain. No matter how hard he tries to push the replays of that night’s scene out of his mind, they always find a way to trickle back in.

Even in the dim lighting of the nightclub, he could see the emotions flash across your face, from shock, to sadness, to anger, and even to disappointment.

And every time he closes his eyes, he remembers how, despite his own decision to hurt you in the absolute worst way possible, he still hoped deep down that you wouldn’t start crying. How he almost wished you’d take your clenched fists and hit him, instead of digging them into your sides in obvious frustration and self-restraint. 

Iwaizumi glances at the digital clock on his bedside table, the glowing, white numbers being the only small source of light in the dark room.

It reads 05:45, on a Monday morning.

Another morning, like several mornings before it, that doesn’t grant him any sort of solace. In fact, Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s gotten a good night’s sleep for a couple of weeks now, maybe.

There’s just too much on his mind, too much _shit_ he has to deal with on his own.

He’s got the interview of his dreams happening later today, the possibility of moving to California for who-knows-how-long, nagging conflicted feelings about the dirty offer he was given that _still_ leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and not to mention the difficult situation with your relationship, as a result of all these things.

Iwaizumi sits up, pushing himself off the mattress as he runs a hand through his hair.

Usually, if something was bothering him, he’d just go visit you at work. Being up at 6 a.m. never felt too bad if he was sitting behind the cash register—despite not working there—watching you clean and keeping you company.

Or, maybe, _you’re_ the one who kept _him_ company. All his worries always felt so much further away whenever he was in your presence, not that he ever let it show. Hell no.

Iwaizumi shakes his head, stopping himself before his thoughts travel further into dangerous territory.

He doesn’t deserve to reminisce, or to even miss you—not after the shit he pulled on Saturday. It was fucked up, and he knows that. But, admittedly, it got the job done: he’s never seen you so furious before, even if it was mixed in with a pool of sadness and betrayal.

You’ve been nothing but kind and gracious to him, and this is how he repays you.

Some moral compass he has, to do something like that with the person he despises more than you do.

You probably hate his guts now.

For the better, too.

It’s always easier to move on from someone you hate, isn’t it? Maybe then you’ll find someone who’s more reliable and not incapable of romance. Someone who doesn’t have to face the possibility of leaving as quickly as they’d come into your life, and someone who probably wasn’t going to ruin things sooner or later down the line anyway.

Hell, he doesn’t even know what his own future holds, how can you expect to have something that lasts with someone like that? 

Sighing, Iwaizumi slides out of bed.

 _Maybe I’ll go for a run_ , he thinks, grabbing his phone from beside his clock.

The screen lights up from the contact, and Iwaizumi notices another few missed calls from Oikawa to add onto the plethora of [drunk] texts and voicemails he’d left on Saturday night. 

His best friend is frustrated with him, maybe even _livid_ if he cares enough—Iwaizumi knows that.

Because frankly, he is too.

At this moment, there’s no one who hates Iwaizumi Hajime more than Iwaizumi Hajime himself—well, other than you, probably. 

* * *

“Well, I guess this is it,” Oikawa says to you with a tired smile, traces of his long and wild Saturday night still slightly showing through his eyes. 

“I guess so,” you echo as he readjusts the backpack strap on his shoulder. There’s an unspoken tension in the air between you two, and the way Oikawa’s already tightened and loosened that damn strap at least five times now makes it evident that he feels it too.

Well, you can’t blame him.

How else is he supposed to react when you show up at the airport to see him off with puffy eyes, only after triple checking and making him _swear_ on his life (as well as wins on all his future matches) that Iwaizumi wouldn’t be here because of his interview? When all you’ve done is ignore his texts and calls for the past two days?

You almost felt bad leaving him hanging, but after your last interaction with Iwaizumi, you really weren’t in the mood to see or talk to anyone. _Especially_ not someone who’s supposed to be his best friend.

No, not even if he means well.

But you also understand that Oikawa isn’t responsible for Iwaizumi’s decisions, and don’t want to give him a hard time when he was just trying to show that he cares about you. He wasn’t overstepping or anything, _Iwaizumi’s_ the one who had gone too far.

“Do you really have to go?” you finally sigh reluctantly, giving him just the smallest pout that he always made fun of you for. 

“This is already the longest vacation I’ve ever taken since I started playing volleyball professionally,” Oikawa chuckles as his shoulders untense, relieved that you can still talk normally to him. “Sorry you can’t mooch off my pro-athlete salary anymore.”

“Shut up,” you chide. “I do _not_ mooch off of you.”

A laugh rolls off Oikawa’s lips at your response, but your expression falls before you speak again.

“But thanks for… paying for me all those times,” you say admittedly. “And everything else too. I’ll miss you.”

“Of course, I’m just kidding,” he grins. He rests a hand lightly on your shoulder, and leans down to level his face with yours. “I’ll miss you too.”

Straightening back up, Oikawa sticks his hand into his pocket and comments, “Maybe it’s not so bad that Hana kept pestering me and asking me if I knew who you were at the very beginning, or else we probably would’ve never met.”

The corners of your lips drop immediately as your eyes narrow at that name, and Oikawa realizes what he’s just said.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing the back of his neck at his carelessness. 

“It’s fine,” you say stiffly.

The tension from earlier returns, sitting densely in the air, even more so than it did previously.

Oikawa hesitates, wondering if it’s a good idea to say what he wants to tell you next.

“Listen, I’m sure—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off curtly, afraid that your voice might break if you talk any more.

“Iwa-chan’s not… like that,” he persists in hopes that at least _something_ he says will reach you.

“Oh yeah, then what’s he like?” you snap with an edge in your voice, already starting to feel every ounce of bitterness bubble up in your chest once again. “Does he wanna come explain himself? _For_ himself? It’s not your obligation to try to defend his shitty actions, Oikawa.”

You almost feel bad, for taking it out on Oikawa like this—but if he wants to speak for Iwaizumi after all that’s said and done, then he should know _exactly_ what type of response to expect.

“I’m sure there has to be something else going on,” he sighs, still trying to make sense of everything himself. After all, Iwaizumi hasn’t even spoken to him—whenever he wanted to be left alone, there was nothing anyone could do about it. “He’s used to shutting people out when things get difficult, because he doesn’t know how to ask for help. After all, he’s pretty much had to rely on himself all this time.”

“So I have to get hurt because he has his own issues to sort out?” you hiss through your teeth, and pray that no tears will fall. Your eyes are exhausted enough already. “We all have baggage, and I deserve better than to just be collateral damage when he doesn’t know how _not_ to act like a fucking asshole.”

Oikawa knows that you’re right. And he understands where you’re coming from. 

He really does.

But it doesn’t change that Iwaizumi is his best friend, or that he knows for a _fact_ that there has to be an explanation for all this. 

“I’m… really sorry for what happened,” he finally says, swallowing thickly.

And, although you’re feeling sad and angry all over again, you can’t bring yourself to unleash that hell onto him—after all, Oikawa also doesn’t deserve to be collateral damage for what’s between you and Iwaizumi.

“Why are you apologizing?” you sigh, forcing yourself to calm down. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I know Iwa-chan can have his walls up high and his door shut tight,” he starts, wanting to at least _try_ and salvage your relationship one last time before he goes. “But sometimes you just have to keep knocking, and he’ll let you in.”

You stare at Oikawa and blink at him tiredly, all of a sudden feeling very empty and… numb.

“Yeah well sometimes, if you slam the door in my face out of nowhere without an explanation, I get tired of knocking,” you breathe, already feeling the stinging in your eyes.

For once, Oikawa is at a loss. Speechless.

“It’s fine,” you say dismissively with a wave of your hand upon seeing how conflicted he looks. “Just go and don’t worry about me—you shouldn’t have to play peacemaker for us.”

He sighs in defeat.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, opening his arms to welcome you into a hug, to which you comply.

“I’m sure I’ll find a way,” you murmur into his shirt, the disappointment at his departure hitting you _extra_ hard now. “Fly safe.”

“I will. Always feel free to call or text if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

You two wave at each other as you watch his tall figure disappear behind the doors of the security screening checkpoint. A sharp exhale escapes you, and the sudden hollow feeling inside your chest grows more and more prominent at the sight of yet another person leaving you behind.

— ✧ ✧ ✧ —

You never considered yourself an avid clubber, by any means. Going out was fun, sure, but it’s not like you had to be getting plastered every single weekend to stay alive.

Yet, there was no hesitation to agree shorter than when your university club invited all its upperclassmen to go to a high-end nightclub-bar on Friday night, all expenses covered by the lovely president’s credit card.

Normally, you wouldn’t find too much interest in partying with a bunch of acquaintances from school to “celebrate a busy and difficult semester nearing an end,” but you also wouldn’t normally be so hopelessly heartbroken. And angry, of course. All the negative emotions.

And so, here you are, drinking and dancing with board members you’ve only ever seen in a work environment or a classroom, letting strangers buy you alcohol so you can stay drunk out of your mind.

Sure, you’re wearing something completely different from the sad attempt you made at getting Iwaizumi to want you again because, well, _fuck him_ , but you look good. And all the shots of Hennessy XO you’ve finessed from random dudes confirm that.

Maybe it’s not so bad, that you can barely make out your surroundings or remember the name of the song being blasted loudly from what feels like every crevice of the building. Maybe this is what you needed, to let it all out and to forget about everything for just one night.

But for Iwaizumi, he wanted anything but that. 

He just wanted to go home after _finally_ meeting his sponsor face-to-face, which had cost him almost an arm and a leg to set up. He was tired enough driving all the way out to this fancy hotel which he thought was completely unnecessary but had no other choice, and now still has to make the long journey home as well.

So when his phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket right as he’s about to put his helmet on, Iwaizumi thinks that he really might snap this time as he mutters under his breath,

“I swear, if it’s fucking Oikawa—”

But he freezes after reading the words on the device’s screen.

It’s not Oikawa.

> [23:58]  
>  **Unknown** : In case you needed a little extra incentive to remember to lose on Sunday…  
> (Attachment: 1 Image)

Iwaizumi’s heart pounds violently against his chest as his thumb flies to open the photo file, and his blood immediately runs cold.

It’s a picture of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked this chapter!  
> feel free to follow me on tumblr @kuroolongtea where i'm more active :)  
> thank you so much for reading! ♡

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i would love to know what you thought, so feel free to leave me a comment :)


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